WildChild: Stories of the Freedom Fighters
by The Narrator
Summary: A Life of War... We don't know how or when the Freedom Fighters first came to be. 08. Equitable Expectation Sneers is looking for an activity to fill a slow afternoon - saving a damsel in distress might be worth a try. ... skillet?
1. Belonging Place

And here's the fluff! (grin)

This is the launch of my Smellershot fic-series, _WildChild_, which will take place entirely _before_ before the show series timeline. In essence, I'm creating the story of Jet's Freedom Fighters (Smellerbee and Longshot in particular) that's only hinted at in _Avatar._ This is all purely speculation/creative license/wishful thinking on my part, but I hope you all will enjoy the world I intend to create.

The stories will not be in chronological order - this isn't a Freedom Fighter fic per say, more of an anthology of musings. Hope that didn't just scare y'all away...

**Ages for this story: **Smellerbee: 8; Longshot: 11 (POV is Longshot at 15)

* * *

_**01. Belonging Place**_

Like a deer-hare that's bungled into the hunter's snare, my time had run out.

"Get 'im!"

"Hold 'im – he ain't gettin' away again!"

My breath came in rasping heaves, burning my lungs and throat. Sweat and blood from the cut in my forehead streamed into my eyes, nearly blinding me. On all sides, dark shapes crowded around, mocking, predatory.

"Not so tough now, are ya?"

"Yer gonna pay for what you did to me, punk!"

"Let's stick him with his own arrows, see how _he_ likes it!"

They seized my arms, holding them fast (I was almost grateful, since I could barely stand on my own).

"Hahaha – he ain't even tryin' to yell or nothin'!"

"Like anybody'd help him?"

"Maybe he don't know _how_ to talk – ha ha!"

I know how to talk, I almost said. Almost. I was not so weak that an enemy could goad me into speaking when I did not want to.

"You messed with the _wrong_ gang, kid."

"Whatsa matter with this kid anyway? Does he think he's _brave_ or somethin' for not yellin'?"

I heard the pop of knuckles being cracked as the leader of this pack of brutes readied himself for the final round of blows. "How 'bout it, Archer Boy?" he demanded, shoving his face into mine, his breath reeking of cabbages and garlic. "Got any last words? Or you jus' too stupid?"

I scowled, remaining silent – the last shred of useless defiance I had left to throw in his face, to show my utter disgust with bullies like him.

He sneered and lifted his fist…

_**ZOCK!**_

My tormentor's eyes went wide and ever-so-slowly, he toppled over like a tree cut down by an ax, falling face-first onto the hard dusty earth at my feet.

I was too stunned by it all to even savor the painful "_whump!_" that accompanied his landing.

"How about a couple last words for _you?_"

The words seemed to come from the sky itself. As one, we all turned and looked up at the wall that served to section off the vacant lot the pack had cornered me in. A small form, backlit by the late afternoon sun, perched atop it, tossing a stone in its right hand.

"Like… 'Eat dirt, loser," the shadowed stranger finished with a disdainful snort.

'_Who…?'_ was all my dazed mind managed.

"Y-You're gonna pay for that!"

"Yeah – now get down here and _fight_, ya coward!"

The pack, stymied by the loss of their leader, turned their fangs against this new enemy. The hands holding me loosed – but I did not have the strength or will to run.

"_I'm _a coward? Fine then." The stranger's anger at the title could be felt like a thrill of energy skittering up my spine. Without hesitation, he launched himself from the wall, turning over in mid-air for no apparent reason other than to show he could, landing whisper-soft on the ground.

We all were slightly amazed by this.

"Who wants to show me," he demanded, dark, blazing eyes glaring from the midst of scraggly bangs, "how brave _they_ are?"

The pack were rooted on the spot by fear, and I will admit that I was little better off. The crimson stripes stained on his cheeks might have been streaked blood, for all I knew.

"Heh – thought not," the terrifying stranger muttered. In the blink of an eye, he jumped straight up, plowing his knee directly into the face of the foremost of the pack.

"Holy – **_KENJI!_**"

'_Who is this person? Why are they doing this?'_ my mind shrilled as I watched the melee like it was nothing more than a puppet play.

"_YOU SONUVA-!_" The next in line swung his fist in a wide, wild arc at the stranger's head as he stood, waiting for his next target. So swiftly that I could barely track it, the stranger shifted out of the path of the fist; seized the wrist as it went past; grasped the front of the attacker's gi – and flung him head-over-heels as easily as I would nock and loose an arrow.

What made it all the more amazing was when I realized the stranger was easily half-a-head shorter than me, and little more than skin and bones.

"That's _three_ down…two to go," the stranger announced, holding up two fingers to the remaining members of the pack. "Why don't you try comin' at me together?" His eyes flashed dangerously once again. "I might go easy on you."

The remainders of the annihilated gang faced their foe…

… and took to their heels, the wounded bringing up the rear so quickly that my clothes were ruffled and pulled every-which-way with the wind of their passing.

I stared after them, wondering if I should feel pity.

"Bullies – _peh!_" The sound of the stranger's disgusted exclamation brought me back to the present. "All talk and no fight – talk about boring!" he continued, twining his fingers above his head and rolling his eyes, speaking more to himself than to me. "Now I gotta find somethin' else to occupy my time…"

'_I thank you for your kind regards,'_ I conveyed with a bow, knowing it was understood. I suppose I was obligated to talk to someone who had saved my life, but…

"Um, you're welcome, I guess," I heard the stranger say after a moment or two. I had already found my hat, and noticed that my travel kit was more or less intact despite the rough treatment of the pack after they had torn it from me. _'Nothing to do but to hope I find it all,'_ I thought with a sigh, scrabbling after various foodstuffs, tools, and gear from amidst the dust-choked weeds.

"Don't get me wrong, I just don't like bullies," I vaguely heard the stranger say as I hunted down my scattered possessions. "My name's Smellerbee. What's yours? By the way, are you all right?"

'_I'm walking aren't I?'_ I spared a thought, having spied my bow and quiver in a bush on the other side of the lot.

"I saw you get hit pretty hard, and it looks like they really beat you up… Are you sure you should…"

The quiver was being stubborn. I didn't want to pull too hard, because I didn't want the arrows going all over the place. The bowstring was already a lost cause, sadly…

'_Too bad I have to leave this town,' _I thought, finally freeing my quiver; I slung it over my shoulder and picked up my kit. _'It's become too dangerous for me to stay here. Perhaps there's a farmer, or better, a hunter who lives on the outskirts who'd be willing to trade a bowstring for…_'

"Erk!" My head snapped back as something grabbed onto the back of my cloak, stopping me dead in mid-stride.

"**_I DON'T LIKE BEING IGNORED!_**" the stranger (Smellerbee?) bellowed at me, knocking me off my feet with sheer volume and presence, his finger thrust into my face while dark lightning crackled around him. "It's very rude!"

I gaped up at him, stunned.

"Don't think that just 'cuz I saved your butt you can take me lightly!" he continued angrily. "You're staying right here until I'm through with you!"

I was slightly confused (and more than a little frightened), but I did not doubt my best (and only) course of action…

* * *

"… and so, because that kid was throwing rocks at a _cat_, you decided to pin him to a tree with your arrows," Smellerbee summed up as he wound the bandage around my head, protecting the wound he had just finished painting with ointment. "That's silly. You should have known a guy like _him_ would have backup. Archers need to have someone watching their back for them, duh." As everything he said was true, I let it slide without comment.

"I'm almost done, just keep still a little bit longer." Despite his rough manner and intimidating appearance, Smellerbee was quite adept at tending to wounds. He had quickly surveyed my supplies and confidently set to work. The pain in my head had almost vanished.

I almost asked him where he had learned to treat wounds, but ask about someone is to attempt to set up a relationship with that person. As grateful as I was, I could not afford to get attached in the slightest way to another.

"There, got it." The bandage was tied off with a knot just above my left ear. "Even though you haven't said a word, I think I know something about you…" Smellerbee added.

"…You don't really _belong_ anywhere, do you?"

He might as well have called me all the names those bullies did – or at least, that's what it felt like. I turned and glared at him.

"Oh!" Smellerbee's eyes went wide and he raised his hands in surprise. "I-I didn't mean it like…!" He sputtered, his face flushing with embarrassment, his arms flailing helplessly. In less than a moment, the formidable, terrifying fighter was replaced by a babbling child. "I think it's really cool how you don't talk! Sort of like a mysterious hero – except that I had to save you! When I get nervous, I talk too much! That's what Jet says! A-and – uh…."

Just as abruptly, he composed himself, coughing delicately before saying, "If you want…" he reached his had out to me with a shy smile, "You can come with me – I know a place you can belong."

'_A place to belong…'_ Those words, those four simple words: they were the words I had been searching for all this time, ever since my home was destroyed, burnt to ash, my family taken from me, my life left in ruins. I had been searching for _someone_ who would take my hand in theirs and say, "Here is where you belong." Why was it that only Smellerbee could go beyond my silence, my hiding, reach for me, and say those words?

I nodded, wordlessly, not because I did not want to speak, but because I could not without weeping. He took my hand…

"By the way, I'm a girl," Smellerbee informed me as we walked westward into the setting sun in search of the person "Jet."

A rock purposefully and spitefully tripped me, causing her to shriek with gales of laughter.

**- END: WildChild 01. -**

* * *

**A/N:** Can y'all tell I'm studying Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs right now? (sheepish grin). The doujinshi (fan-comic) version of this story is in the process of being posted on deviantART. Just visit my profile to find the link!


	2. Hidden Heart

This may or may not become a doujin as well, since it's pretty short. Inspired by the fact that it is #$!! cold on top of this mountain, and windy to boot!

**Ages for this story: **Smellerbee: 12; Longshot: 15

* * *

_**Hidden Heart**_

_**--- **_

The icy wind sliced right through his woven straw cloak and heavy, padded clothing like he was clad in nothing more than what Nature provided upon his coming into the world.

'_Spirits, just let me make it back to my room before my fingers fall off,'_ Longshot prayed, gritting his teeth as he strove to keep his footing on the treacherously swinging bridge, high above the forest floor. The dark clouds that had threatened snow since they first arrived on the northern horizon that afternoon had, as yet, to make good on their promise. However, the ferocious winds that accompanied them seemed bound and determined to make up for the lack of white flurries with shear, cruel, cutting cold.

A particularly nasty screaming gust nearly took Longshot's hat off, and he risked tumbling head-over-heels from his lofty path to clamp it more firmly onto his head. _'I know Jet's only being careful by keeping up the watch,'_ Longshot observed ruefully, claiming the relative stability of the tree-centered platform that had been his goal, _'but not even the most obsessed Fire Nation bounty hunter would be out on a night like this!'_ The noise alone, the wind keening and howling like so many disembodied tortured voices of the damned, was enough to make Longshot edgy. He never put much stock in tales of ghosts and ghouls, but at the moment he was looking forward to shutting out the night and lighting a lantern in his quarters to stave off the haunting dark.

The wind broke suddenly, making Longshot's ears pop. Then, he heard it – stifled wails, a choking cry. _'That's not the wind,'_ he realized, just as it kicked up again, swallowing up the mournful, human sound. The cries had come from the small shelter, perched like a covered nest, in the huge branches directly above his head.

'_Smellerbee?'_

Longshot forgot all about escape to the warmth and comfort of his room. It had been years since Smellerbee cried during a winter gale – he remembered how Jet would spend hours telling stories of heroes and mischief makers to the frightened girl whenever the screaming cold wind delivered nightmares of days past to Smellerbee's dreams. She had outgrown it, eventually. But one could never be certain…

Without further hesitation, Longshot hung his bow about his shoulders and grasped the knotted rope that served as the ladder up into Smellerbee's aerie.

* * *

Smellerbee started at the sound of knocking emanating from her floor. "Who's there?" she demanded, reaching for her knife.

The small, circular door swung up and a familiar battered conical hat climbed into view. "Oh… Longshot," Smellerbee said, surprised but putting the knife aside, "Well, hurry, get your butt up in here and close the door, or the lantern will go out!"

Longshot complied as quickly as humanly possible for someone with a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a bulky winter cloak could when climbing up through a hole meant for the entrance and egress of a particularly slender little girl (no matter if she wore armor).

"Just get back from watch duty?" she asked as soon as the portal clicked to and the noise of the gale lessened considerably. As Longshot could not stand up due to Smellerbee's low ceiling, he elected to take a seat on the singular bare spot of floor afforded by the door he had just come through. The wind still managed to worm its way through the eaves and cracks in the walls, mewling and whistling like several boiling teakettles, but Smellerbee's cramped quarters were snug and warm to anyone who had just come in from the cold night. A small enclosed lantern flickered on the low table beside the jumbled nest of quilts, blankets and rags that served as her bed, casting everything in a golden glow that only made the scene more idyllic.

Longshot nodded, and regarded her, puzzled. Her eyes were clear and showed no sign of tears; granted, she looked a bit tired, but not in the anxious fearful exhausted manner of one afraid to sleep.

"What's up?" Smellerbee asked, noticing his bewilderment.

Longshot cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

"You thought you heard something and came to check up on me?" Smellerbee easily interpreted.

Longshot nodded, frowning.

Smellerbee smiled mysteriously. "I think I can help you out there," she said. Turning to look over her shoulder, she called out, "Why don't you stop playing hide-and-seek now? I told you it wasn't the bogey-man!"

Longshot blinked as a mass of blankets just behind Smellerbee reared up of their own volition, revealing a pair of large dark eyes that peered suspiciously (and a little fearfully) at him.

"He had a nightmare," Smellerbee explained, putting her arm around the Duke's small, cloth-bundled shoulders, "I'm surprised you didn't hear the screams from where you were." The Duke relaxed against Smellerbee but still regarded Longshot warily, as though unsure if he could truly trust that Longshot was indeed his fellow Freedom Fighter and not some devious fiend in disguise.

"Smellerbee can scare monsters," the child informed Longshot abruptly, almost challengingly, "They think she's scary." He sniffled and smeared his hand across his streaming nose and puffy red eyes in a generous, clumsy gesture.

"And they should, right?" Smellerbee asked him, grinning fiercely and ruffling his hair, making him half-giggle, half-protest, "I'm the scariest, meanest, quickest warrior you'd ever want to cross paths with, right?"

"Uh-huh," the Duke agreed in all honesty and innocence, "You're really scary when you've got your paint an' armor an' knife – you don't have 'em on now," he amended, "but you're still really scary. Everyone's afraid of you."

Only Longshot caught the brief flicker of pain in Smellerbee's wide eyes as she continued to smile down at the child she had taken into her sanctuary. "Hmph, the way Sneers talks down to me sometimes, I have to wonder," she grumbled, giving the Duke a playful cuff, "So, you wanna stay the night here or what?"

"Staying," the Duke answered in a characteristic burst, tumbling back into the warm blankets with a giggle and disappearing from sight.

"What?" Smellerbee hissed sharply, noticing the smirk Longshot was trying all-too-unsuccessfully to stifle, "His sobbing would have kept me up all night!"

'_Seeing as his room is _only _two trees away…' _Longshot leaned forward and patted her on the head.

"Grrrrrr – leave off!" Smellerbee snapped, blushing and scowling as she shoved his hand away, "I am _not_ like that! I'm a mean, scary girl who just likes having a good night's sleep, that's all!"

His only respond was to nod and make ready to leave.

She fixed him with a threatening glare. "Tell _anyone_, including Jet, about this, and you're gonna have to watch your back! I mean it, Longshot!"

'_Of course,'_ his shrug clearly conveyed before he opened the door.

'_I don't know why you think you have to hide it all the time, though,'_ his last glance at her spoke before he dropped back down into the wailing night.

* * *

"Smellerbee, just so you know," Jet drawled, coming across his most trusted lieutenant as she brought in a patrol, "I think it's great you're taking such good care of the newest members, especially the Duke."

Smellerbee gaped at him, her face turning an inexplicable shade of red so deep that her blood-stripes nearly disappeared. "I'm gonna _kill_ him!" she shouted, turning on her heel, "_LONGSHOT, WHERE ARE YOU?! YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME FOREVER!!"_

"Um… okay," Jet managed as Smellerbee stormed across platform, shouting colorful invectives and making everyone dive out of her way or risk serious injury, "I just thought she'd appreciate knowing I think she's doing a good job training the newcomers."

"Women," Sneers snorted, shuffling through the notes he had assembled from earlier patrol reports. "Although…" His namesake smirk flashed. "I'm certainly not going to miss out on an opportunity to see her chase Longshot through the trees like a pissed-off hog-monkey again."

"Me neither," Jet agreed with a mirroring devious grin, and both young men hared off in Smellerbee's footsteps.

--- _**WILDCHILD 02. - END**_ ------

(Run, Longshot, run!)

Oh, and if anyone knows the name of the "paper-rock-scissors" elements game Aang and Sokka were playing "City of Walls and Secrets," please tell me - I'm working on the next WildChild doujin right now, and I need to know if there's a canon name for it. Thanks!


	3. Fair Play

My current doujin project. Pure, unmitigated Smellershot fluff. Enjoy.

**Ages for this story:** Smellerbee: 8; Longshot: 11 (Jet: 13)

* * *

_**Fair Play**_

_**--- **_

'_I wonder if I could sell them to a circus,'_ Jet thought. Mild capitalist tendencies aside, watching his two young comrades interact on a daily basis provided a never-ending series of entertainment. And frustration.

"C'mon, Longshooooooot – GIMME!!"

Take today for instance…

The baker had been collaborating with the local Fire Nation garrison, providing bread and information with gusto, all for a tidy profit. Leastways, that was how Jet heard it in the marketplace. An inspection of the baker's establishment (clean, orderly, and well-stocked in stark comparison to the rest of the vendors in the town) seemed to confirm the whispered rumors. Jet, Smellerbee, and Longshot were not going to stay long in the town – one or two scuffles with Fire Nation soldiers foolhardy enough to troll the back-alleys alone had seen to that.

But there was no way Jet was going to let a collaborator get off scot-free, right under his nose.

'_Wonder if that dough will just keep rising,'_ Jet wondered idly, imagining the look on the baker's well-fed, jowly face when he re-opened in the morning.

Smellerbee, especially, had a creative flair for destruction, though it _had_ been Longshot's idea to spell out nasty words with sticky, half-risen dough flung up at the ceiling.

The sweetcakes had been a bonus, a spur-of-the-moment bit of completely justified raiding. Jet was not fond of sweets, but he knew his younger friends, like most children, were – it had been too long since they had last enjoyed a treat.

Unfortunately, dividing five sweetcakes between two becomes something of challenge when neither side is willing to concede "half-sies."

"Fine, play Elements for it, and stop bickering!" Jet said, throwing up his hands (and realizing, in the same instant, he sounded exactly like the over-tired, over-worked mothers chasing after their respective broods in the market-place. It was not a comforting epiphany.)

His suggestion _should _have ended it – only, best-out-of-three became best-out-of-nine, then best-out-of-twenty-seven… by then, the game had dissolved into more bickering, with accusations of cheating ("He's reading my mind!") thrown into the mix. Jet, who had been designated referee and official holder of the prize, was getting a headache.

"Okay! That's it! Here's how we settle this! Smellerbee, how many fingers am I holding behind my back?" he asked the little girl, curling all but two of his fingers into a fist, out of sight of the combatants.

"Five!" Smellerbee shouted immediately, her painted face blotchy with anger and frustration.

"Longshot?"

The young archer stared into Jet's eyes, and Jet wondered for a moment how accurate Smellerbee's accusation had been. Longshot raised a hand, extending his fore and middle fingers.

"Okay, Longshot wins," Jet announced, heaving an internal sigh of relief.

"**_WHAT!?!_**" Smellershot blared, "No fair! You had your hand behind your back, so that means you have five fingers there, unless you lopped them off! I was right!"

Normally, Jet would have conceded her technical argument (Smellerbee was pretty good at those), but today he had Had Enough. "That's not how it works, and you know it, Smellerbee," he said sternly, "Longshot won."

Smellerbee glared darkly as Jet handed over the coveted sweetbun… then dove at it with the speed of a xirshu's tongue.

Longshot was just as fast, however, and Smellerbee was forced to give chase.

Jet watched them go at it with the air of a jaded critic viewing yet another melodrama. _'I give up,'_ he thought, and went to find a more comfortable seat from which to observe the energetic display.

* * *

"That's my sweetbun and you know it, Longshot!" Smellerbee howled, cutting him off yet again with another burst of speed. Longshot was the faster runner, but only if he had the advantage of a straight track – Smellerbee had him pretty much beat as far as agility went, and she was pouring everything she had into the contest. It took all of Longshot's skill (honed by hours of sparring with Jet and Smellerbee) to avoid her.

He did have one other advantage, and this he used to its utmost…

"Graaaah!" Smellerbee jumped straight up, trying to reach the bun as Longshot held it over his head. He would not give her the time to build up for one of her gravity-defying leaps, and Smellerbee cursed him for being such a quick student. "Give it!"

Longshot spared the energy to shake his head, a smirk flitting over his normally stoic face as she became even more enraged, her bushy hair standing on end and her eyes flashing – it was like teasing a temperamental kitten with a bit of string.

It was also a costly moment of fancy.

Smellerbee saw her chance and seized it.

She jumped again, not for the bun, as he expected – frail-seeming arms twined around his neck and warm wetness pressed against his cheek. Her breath was like fire, spreading through his body…

She grinned in the satisfaction of victory, easily plucking the prize from his slackened grip and skittering away, clambering up a nearby tree with speed not even Jet could match.

'_Like a raccoon-squirrel,'_ Jet thought with a chuckle as Smellerbee settled high up in the autumn-bared branches to enjoy her well-earned spoils. He heaved himself to his feet, almost regretting the forgone conclusion of the day's entertainment.

"It's enough to make any teacher proud," he observed to Longshot, clapping the silent boy sympathetically on the shoulder, "I always told her, 'Do the unexpected.' I guess that little kiss was the last thing you were expecting, am I right?" He glanced down at Longshot, expecting at least a rueful nod.

Longshot stared into nothingness, a soft up-turning of his lips the only expression on his face.

"Erm, Longshot? Hey, Longshot, you all right? Hey, you're not about to be sick or something are you?!"

------ **_WildChild 03. – END_** -------


	4. Fickle Fate

**Summary:** Fate works in funny ways - the worst thing imaginable might open the door for a whole new direction in life, especially when someone new joins the group...

**Ages for this story:** Smellerbee: 9; Longshot: 12; (Jet: 14)

Whoo - finally moving into telling the stories of other Freedom Fighters! There is Smellershot, but only if you are looking for it...

**_

* * *

_**

**WildChild 04.:**

**_Fickle Fate_**

"You know what I hate most about this?" Jet ventured.

Smellerbee scowled and Longshot never even bothered to raise his head.

Jet continued as though he had received their encouragement. "What I really hate about this is that I wasn't even the one who threw the rock at that bastard's rhino. That was hilarious!" He chuckled sardonically, spitting out the bit of straw he had been furiously chewing.

"I wanna get my hands on the jerk who did," Smellerbee muttered darkly, punching one of the metal bars of their prison cell as hard as she could. All she got for her trouble was a desultory _clang!_ and two bruised knuckles. "It's his fault we're in here, and we didn't even _do_ anything."

"…this time," she amended after a moment's reflection. She flinched slightly as Longshot took her hand to examine and wrap the self-inflicted wound, but otherwise ignored him, completely absorbed in the _unfairness_ of it all.

The trio had only just arrived in the recently-occupied Earth Kingdom city. The Fire Nation garrison commander, obviously a man of great self-importance, was leading a military review parade down the main street in an apparent attempt to stress to the city's inhabitants the conditions of their new "citizenship." The grim crowd eyed their new masters in defeated silence…

Until a rock hurled from among the people hit the hindquarters of the commander's mount. The rhino panicked, scattering soldiers and civilians alike as it rampaged, inducing a stampede in the other rhinos. In the ensuing chaos, Longshot was seized by a soldier. When Smellerbee and Jet ran to his aid, all three were quickly overwhelmed. Bruised and sullen, the children were tossed into a caged cart and trundled up the mountain to the forbidding fortress that overlooked the city.

The warden informed them that they were charged with assault and inciting a riot, and under the new draconian martial law, would be publicly executed in three days to serve as a warning to others.

To add insult to injury, their cell, isolated in a rear outbuilding of the fortress, sat just above the stinking midden heap.

"Getting executed for a crime we didn't even get around to committing sucks. What I wouldn't give to smash his face in…"

"Not like you have much to give to begin with," a voice from above pointed out.

"Wha…?" Three heads snapped in the direction of the narrow cell's singular window, a barred opening above the rickety wooden cot that even Smellerbee would have trouble fitting through - as they could attest from experience.

Currently eclipsing said window was the broad face and shoulders of a boy around Jet's age (but easily half again his girth). His scalp lock was rolled into a small bun perched atop his head, while the rest of his greasy, shoulder-length black hair hung about his face like sodden weeds. Sharp, scorpion-snake-like eyes scrutinized them lazily.

A mocking smirk graced his lips.

"Who are you?" Smellerbee snarled, bridling at the stranger's derision.

"Now there's the rub – do I tell you, and risk having my name dropped in the ear of the warden, or do I tell you to mind your business?"

Smellerbee glowered, her hand curling unseen around the rim of one of the tin cups the guards had provided.

"How about you state _your_ business or leave us the hell alone, Sneers?" Jet suggest, raising a warning eyebrow at Smellerbee.

(Smellerbee "harrumph"-ed but stood down.)

"My name is not Sneers," the boy responded with a scowl, the smirk vanishing.

"Hm – I can't seem to find myself caring very much," said Jet flatly, yawning. He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back against the wall, his eyes drifting half-closed.

"You're still here?" he asked after a beat, seeming just to notice the offended stranger had not moved from the window.

"Yes, I am," Sneers remarked dryly, the smirk returning, "as I have a proposition for you."

"Nothing obscene, I hope – there _are_ children present," Jet drawled, his eyes mostly closed now. But Longshot could tell he was listening with great interest. Smellerbee, too, sensed Jet's attention, and (temporarily) curbed her protestation about being called "child."

"I get you out – you take me with you," Sneers said flatly.

Jet opened one eye and looked up at him. "That's a pretty straight-forward proposition – I expected you to jerk us around a little bit."

Sneers shrugged. "Would have, under normal circumstances," he admitted, "But I'm somewhat pressed for time."

"So… why bother springing us?" Jet asked, not even bothering to conceal his curiosity at this point.

The smirk broadened. "Maybe because I know that losing another set of prisoners, let alone children, will get the warden arrested and possibly executed; maybe because I think the little girl's cute when she's pissed."

Smellerbee stuck her tongue out at him. Longshot looked down, so his hat would conceal his clenched jaw from the stranger.

"Or maybe it's because I feel bad about you three getting locked up and executed for something I did – karmic balance and all that."

"That was **_you?!_**" Smellerbee demanded, temper flaring like a spark to dry tinder.

The tin cup was flying through the air before the enraged echoes of her shout faded. It banged against the iron bars, making Sneers start back in surprise.

"Well, that'll bring the guard," Jet remarked as Sneers dropped out of sight. "Cool it, Smellerbee – you can kill him after he gets us out," he hissed at the girl, who was currently writhing in Longshot's arms as she tried to simultaneously yank his hand off her mouth, kick him, and escape to jump up at the window.

"What's going on here!?" bawled the guard moments later, his arrival presaged by the metallic clash-_tang!_ of iron keys jangling on the ring attached to his belt.

Jet greeted him with a wave, indolently hanging his arms out through the bars. "Oh, nothing much – just kids being kids, Mr. Guard, sir," he replied with politeness so false it grated.

He received a hard cuff to his left ear from the guard's brick-like fist that sent him sprawling. "Uppity Earth Kingdom brat!" spat the guard, obviously an old soldier gone to seed and sent behind the lines to serve a more useful role, "Keep your damned mouths shut and stop banging around like the pack of hell-spawned hog-monkeys you are!"

With that, the guard turned on his heel and strode off.

Jet raised himself and saluted the guard's retreating back with an obscene gesture. "Ow," he admitted with a grimace as the harsh cacophony of keys faded. Gingerly, he touched the side of his head, the shell of his ear bright red and his cheekbone already darkening purple. Blood oozed from a cut in his temple. "Forgot the bastard was wearing gauntlets."

"Sorry, Jet," Smellerbee mumbled, cheeks suffused pink with shame as she stared hard at the floor.

"Hmph – I'd say, 'don't feel bad,' but that hurt like a mother… anyway, Longshot – you can let go of her now."

Longshot started, then looked down to realize his arms still encircled the smaller girl in what most definitely could be called a "hug" by someone ignorant of the context. He released her and practically hurled himself to the other side of the room, should Smellerbee be in a vindictive mood (an almost certainty).

Jet appraised him knowingly, and Longshot returned the look with stony blankness – Jet never let him forget that day he had so handily lost to Smellerbee (and been made abundantly aware that he was head-over-heels in love with her). Not that Jet ever _said_ anything, no – but the shrewd looks and silence were ever so much more uncomfortable, since they turned Longshot's own tactics against him.

It made him remember that Jet was not someone easily trifled with.

Smellerbee, somewhat too occupied with her own embarrassment to pick up on the by-play, jumped to her feet and sprang onto the bed. "Hey, Sneers!" she hissed, grabbing two of the bars and lifting herself up so that her chin could rest on the narrow, gritty sill.

The boy-hereafter-known as Sneers popped into view, his cold eyes narrow slits. "I said before, that's not my name."

"Anyway, Sneers," Smellerbee said, just to twist the knife because she was in the mood, "…Are you getting us out of here or not?"

Their noses were practically touching through the bars. "If you can stand the company, little girl," he answered, "I can have you free in less than an hour."

"You sure talk big," Smellerbee pointed out, "Got a way to back it up?"

"Jet." Sneers shifted his gaze and suddenly Smellerbee did not exist. "We have a deal?"

"Yeah – I'd kiss a boar-q-pine if it got us outta this dump," Jet agreed, quirking a grin.

Something like anger flared momentarily in Sneers' eyes, but only Smellerbee saw it. "I like to think I'm pleasanter company than a short-tempered, barb-flinging trotter," he replied easily. "No offense to the present company intended, my dear," graciously addressed to Smellerbee.

"The guard changes at midnight – look for me then," Sneers said, ducking just in time to avoid a Smellerbee-knuckle-to-nose Special, "Try not to die." He clambered down the rough wall with remarkable agility for one of his bulk, landing on the midden ten feet below like a cat before vanishing in the deepening shadows clinging to the high wall that ringed the prison.

"I really hate that guy," Smellerbee announced unnecessarily, dropping to the cot with a slight grunt (Longshot instinctively steadied her, then retreated back into his private thoughts).

"Like I said, kill him _after_ he's gotten us out of here," Jet said lightly, but he, too was lost in thought.

Their new "ally" had hidden depths, and Jet was not too sure of what he would find if they were sounded…

------------------------

"Bet he was just jerking us around," Smellerbee said as midnight approached. The full moon had since visited and absented herself from their cell, leaving the three children in near-pitch dark. The prison shuddered with the opening and closing of leaden doors, the wind moaning hollowly through the corridors, bearing with it the night's chill and the not-far-enough-away stench of the prison and its inmates. There were other sounds, screams and sobs and gibberings that could not be explained away by the simple movement of air.

Smellerbee shivered unconsciously, wedging herself ever-so-slightly more firmly between Jet and Longshot. Both boys pretended not to notice.

"Maybe he was," Jet allowed softly, "Problem is, I've been trying to figure a way out here myself, and we're royally screwed without outside help." This pronouncement was delivered casually, but both Longshot and Smellerbee stiffened.

No one needed to mention what happened if they failed to escape their current predicament.

"Ye of little faith – believe and be delivered!" a hushed voice edged with sarcasm whispered as the door of their cell swung silently inward, guided by a shadowed hand.

"Holy sh… hrm, took you long enough," Jet observed casually, getting to his feet and stretching like he'd just woken up.

Smellerbee and Longshot looked at each other, both knowing instinctively what expression graced the other's face. Jet could be _such_ a show-off...

Sneers' outline (a deeper black against the dark) shrugged. "One of the guards decided to be vigilant – he was coming down to check the cells on this floor just as I came up. Had to take care of him."

Longshot got the distinct impression that "take care of him" did not include a glass of water and a "good night" tuck into bed.

Jet grunted his approval and strode out of the cell, followed by Longshot; Smellerbee hung back.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet, little girl," Sneers teased, though his tone carried a hint of impatience.

"Who are you?" she demanded lowly, "How can you just waltz into a Fire Nation prison like this, get the keys, and let us out, easy as breathing?" Her feet slid into a defensive stance. "Jet, this guy's up to something – I don't trust him!" She raised her hands, trying to gauge her opponent through the gloom.

"Neither do I," Jet replied, standing at Sneers' shoulder, "No offense."

"Mm, none taken – you'd be an idiot if you weren't suspicious. But as I'm certain you were about to explain to your little friend…"

"I have a name! It's Smellerbee!" Smellerbee hissed, hands clenching into fists. Sneers snorted derisively, and Jet clamped down on Longshot's shoulder, to prevent the younger boy from diving at him.

"… you don't have a choice – either trust me, or you're dead," Sneers finished without embellishment, "Now, are you coming, or shall I lock this door with you on that side of it?"

Smellerbee hesitated, feeling three sets of eyes boring down on her out of the darkness. She could sense Jet's tension, Sneers' impatience… and Longshot's anxiety. If she stayed, she _knew_ he would as well, though where this certainty came from…

"That's a good girl," Sneers said patronizingly as Smellerbee crossed the threshold of the cell to join them in the corridor, "Now then, let's… oof!"

"Easy there, Sneers," Jet said brightly, hauling the gasping boy upright by his shoulder, "Can't have you rolling around on the ground – Longshot might accidentally kick you in the head, it being so dark and all."

"…guh…" was Sneers eloquent reply.

Smellerbee's fists might be small, but they were fast and hard enough to rob a grown man of breath when properly applied…

--------------------------

"So… how _do _you know your way around here so well?" Jet asked their guide under his breath as they scurried from shadow to shadow in the torch-lit passageway one floor and many corridors from their cell.

Sneers sighed, scanning the vacant passage just ahead. "Once we're out of here – I'll tell you my story, if you're still interested."

"Fair enough."

------------------------------

"Wait! We need to get our weapons!"

"… You have _got_ to be kidding."

"Smellerbee's right – we can't leave here unarmed. That's stupid."

"And walking into the armory is your idea of a smart thing to do?"

"I'm not leaving without my bow and arrows."

"Oh, so you _do_ talk – I thought you were mute or som—Hey, tell your little girlfriend to knock it off! She's going to bring the place down on us!"

"Smellerbee, _after_ we're out of here, remember?"

"… hrmgfle…"

"Smellerbee agrees. So, which way's the armory?"  
A deep, pained sigh, and the sound of a palm smacking against a forehead in utter exasperation. "This way…"

-----------------------------

"Let's never vacation here again," Jet suggested, as they stood near the edge of the cliff overlooking their erstwhile prison. Dawn was breaking over the town, gilding the glazed green tile roofs of the richer dwellings, and softening the dirty grays and blacks of the poorer quarters. If one did not look southward, it was easy to overlook the damage wrought by the Fire Nation army that had conquered the still-sleeping settlement.

"Got my vote," Smellerbee agreed, focused on sharpening her knife.

Longshot nodded, before his gaze slid back to the newest member of their party.

"I suppose this is where we part ways," Sneers said, ignoring Longshot's dark, steady stare.

"Hm… or, you could come with us," replied Jet.

Smellerbee dropped her knife and whetstone, and Longshot made a choking sound that might have been a laugh or a strangled shout.

Sneers appraised Jet from his seat on the ground, his legs swinging free over the valley. "That's rather incautious of you, seeing as you have no idea who I am."

"You got us out of a Fire Nation fortress without so much as chipping a nail," riposted Jet, "Means you got some brains in you. And you can fight… probably. It's not like you have any place to belong, right?"

"A 'place to belong' is it?" Sneers eyes gazed out over the open space before him, to the fortress. "No, not anymore," he admitted, almost to himself, his expression faraway and almost wistful.

"Okay then – we're going to get breakfast now," Jet said, in a tone that brooked no argument, "Come along and tell us your story – that way, we don't have to worry about not knowing you." He held his had out to Sneers.

"Fair enough," Sneers agreed, taking Jet's hand and getting to his feet.

Smellerbee and Longshot exchanged glances. _'What in Spirits' name is Jet up to?'_

-------------------- **WILDCHILD 04. END ------------------------**

One of the great things about side-characters is that you can write their whole backstory and no one can wank about not being in line with the canon storyline. (). So, as you probably have guessed, next up is Sneers tale. Hopefully, he can get through it before Smellerbee pays him back for all those insults.

P.S. - Vol. 02 of the WildChild Doujin is in the works - I hope to post it sometime in mid-January.


	5. Fickle Fate: Sneers' Tale

**Summary:** Fate works in funny ways - the worst thing imaginable might open the door for a whole new direction in life, especially when someone new joins the group. Sneer's story

**Ages for this story:** Smellerbee: 9; Longshot: 12; Jet: 14; Sneers: 16

Just a heads up, kiddies - Sneers' backstory is DARK. Mainly because I could, but also because I'm starting to get a coherent plot out of this series. (headdesk)

* * *

**_Fickle Fate: Sneer's Tale_**

"Once upon a time…"

"Hey, I thought you were telling your life story," interrupts the little girl with bloodstripes on her cheeks (not for the first time do I wonder if she knows what they mean), "Not some stupid fairytale!"

"All the best stories start out that way," I inform her, with far more patience than she is due.

She glares, picks up her malformed kukri and points it at me quite rudely. "Jet, I can kill him now, right?"

She is looking at the older boy, Jet, the apparent leader of this merry little ragtag trio. The other member, the silent archer-boy, tries to hide his eagerness; I have no doubt which way he wants the judgment to go.

So sue me for assuming a person who doesn't utter a single word for a whole day straight (even when he's grabbed by Fire Nation soldiers!) is mute.

"I'm kinda interested in what he has to say Smellerbee – and he _did_ help us catch breakfast," Jet points out, picking his teeth with a well-chewed fishbone. He glances at me, and informs with me an arched eyebrow that he is only half-kidding when he continues, "Let him tell his story, then do whatever you want."

The girl (Smellerbee – still think that's a stupid name) growls irritably and plunks down on the ground in a huff. "Spill," she snaps at me, playing with her knife as if I hadn't already gotten the message.

I notice that the archer is decidedly put-out as well.

So, my life hangs in the balance, depending on my story-telling skills. _'Out of the frying pan, is it?'_ I smirk, not intentionally trying to piss off the little girl (she takes offence anyway), but because Fate seems to be having her way with me, left, right, and center these days.

"Once upon a time…

-0-0-

… in the mountains to the south and east of the great city of Ba Sing Se, a brotherhood of warrior monks, the _sohei_, lived in great fortress-monasteries, protecting the city's physical and spiritual welfare. It was their task to keep the roads safe for travelers, and to provide wisdom and sanctuary for those who sought it.

For many centuries, the _sohei_ fulfilled their sacred charge, and grew in number and prestige. Brothers traveled from the original monasteries into the wilderness, seeking enlightenment. Some also happened to find other villages, cities, and kingdoms. At the time, these kingdoms of Earth were at war, and the _sohei _took it upon themselves to protect the innocent, to shelter whom they could against the powerful and wicked with their strength and their wisdom.

Over time, the kingdoms of Earth were united, and made one – the kings of Ba Sing Se became the Kings of the Earth Kingdom, a great empire that feared no other nation.

As is the way of men, the great city of Ba Sing Se became too powerful – evil crept in, the corruption of arrogance and pride. Even the _sohei_ fell victim to the seduction, as their power and influence rose alongside that of the Earth Kingdom capitol. Among the _sohei_, evil men, with dark ambition, rose through the ranks, seized control, and began crafting the _sohei_ of Ba Sing Se into an army loyal only to themselves. The monasteries that had once protected the weak now oppressed them, as the _sohei_ levied taxes and tolls and other extortions for the protection they once gave freely. They coveted the power of the Earth King's throne, and might have taken it, but for the fact that the Avatar, Kyoshi, had become wary of their plots and became determined to stop them.

In due course, overconfident of their power, the corrupt leaders of the _sohei_ revealed themselves for what they were. They instigated a peasant uprising within the city, and would have lead it through the very gates of the palace, if not for the Avatar and the secret army she had trained, the Dai Li. The Earth King only learned of the _sohei's_ treachery after the fact. When he did, he ordered his armies to wipe out the brotherhood, and destroy every trace of their existence. The _sohei_ were massacred, their far-flung fortresses sought out and destroyed, the very memory of their existence obliterated.

Save for a few. An abbot of wilderness monastery beyond even the eyes of Ba Sing Se and the High Abbots of the _sohei_ managed to keep his isolated band of brothers concealed, though none now know what spiritual power he used to do so. Their name and story forgotten, the remaining _sohei_ lived on, protecting the people who came to live beneath the shelter of their great walls. The wilderness was settled, and the monastery became a city, independent of any Earth King."

-0-0-

"Okay…. So, what the heck does any of that have to do with you?" Smellerbee demands, when I pause for a breath and a drink of water.

"I'm getting to that," I snap back at her, my patience wearing thin. _'Ungrateful little brat – I save her scrawny butt and this is the thanks I get? Death threats and snotty editorial comments!!'_ "How could you possibly expect to understand me when you're so ignorant of the past? I bet you didn't even know the _sohei_ ever existed until I told you!"

"We did." This from the archer. He looks at me through the cracks in his abused hat-brim, his eyes measuring and slightly less hostile.

I'm surprised, and I can't even hide it. _'Our history is lost, secret!' _"How? How did you…?"

"That's a story for another time," Jet interrupts. He's very attentive now. "You were getting to the important part, right? Yours?"

I nod, a little put-off. These kids are more than they seem, even to my discerning eyes. I wouldn't have saved them if I hadn't been confident I could use them, but now…

"I was brought up by the _sohei_ in their monastery, which we have just escaped. Now you know why I was able to bring you out so easily – it was as simple as taking guests through a home I've known all my life…

-0-0-

…Whether I was abandoned or orphaned or left behind in the hopes of one day being reclaimed doesn't matter. From my first memories, I was novice, a monk-in-training and my family was the other novices and the _sohei_. I learned reading and writing in the scriptorium, and memorized the centuries of teachings of our order and the history of the Four Nations. The _sohei_ never abandoned their warrior ways entirely, and so I was also drilled in martial arts and the use of the _naginata_, to make my body a weapon and a shield for the innocent. My master, Shiro, was a man who only came into the order late in life, having forsaken his life as a soldier. Because of him, I also learned of the wider world and its wonders and cruelties, of military tactics and strategy, how to wage war for the ends of peace."

_'Not that Master Shiro ever believed such a thing was possible,'_ I add to myself.

"How can you be a monk – you aren't bald," interrupts Smellerbee. This time, she's not being snide, only curious.

_'Victory from the jaws of certain death.'_ "You're probably thinking about the monks of the Air Nomads," I said, "The _sohei_ novices wear a topknot until they became _sohei_, and then, their hair was shaved." I shrug. "It's just how things were."

Smellerbee nods, then looks at me expectantly.

-0-0-

"The day I turned fifteen, I was taken to the abbot, Isei. He was a kind man, very old, and probably had forgotten more than I will ever know if I study for a hundred years. He asked me if my heart was set on becoming a _sohei_.

Of course, I answered yes – what other life was there for me, raised as I was?

I remember… he looked at me very carefully, like he could see into every dark corner of my mind. We… the novices, used to laugh about his fading eyesight and deafness behind his back, but at that very moment, I believed he had heard and seen it all, and that no thought of mine could escape his scrutiny. I had to look away.

That was a mistake, I think. Maybe if I had been worthy, I would have passed his test. It's even possible there was no way for me to pass, but all the same…

Abbot Isei told me that my spirit was unready, that I was not yet fully formed. I was to journey from the monastery, my home, for a year and a day, at which point I would stand before him one last time, to either become _sohei_ or be cast out.

My master did not seem surprised by the abbot's decision. Perhaps he did not expect me to return. As much as I loved the monastery, my master knew I was curious, more curious than a monk should be, of the wider world. It was all his fault of course, and I don't think he regretted making my life that much more difficult. He helped me prepare for the journey and sent me away with nothing more than a few words: 'There is a place for you, if you find it.'"

-0-0-

I paused, wondering if I should regale them with tales of my adventures – I had had plenty, and never had a chance to tell anyone about them. But more importantly, now, I had to convince them that I belonged with them, that I could be one of them.

I didn't have any other place to go, after all.

-0-0-

"If you think it's worth your while, I can tell you more about where I went and what I saw and did in that year's time. Suffice it to say, I went into the world blind and ignorant, for all my book-learning, and came back with eyes opened halfway. I had seen how far the Fire Nation had come in their war, how they were slowly grinding even the mighty Earth Kingdom into the dust while our great King sleeps in idle pleasure in Ba Sing Se. What I did not comprehend was that even my small corner of the world would one day be overcome…

I met up with the first refugees a week out from the monastery. They told me that an army of the Fire Nation had laid siege to the city, and the fortress had fallen, my brothers and the citizens put to flame and blade in equal measure. I didn't want to believe it, I couldn't believe it. I was too young – I believed that the last of the _sohei_ could not fall, that my home was invulnerable.

I was young, and naïve.

A Fire Nation patrol captured me when I blundered into their picket line. I put up a fight, but there were too many. They might have killed me outright, but fortunately for me, there was a standing order for all suspicious persons to be brought immediately to the army's headquarters – my old monastery, which the bastards had taken for their own."

Pausing, I closed my eyes against the still-painful flood of memories. The sleeping quarters had become barracks and prison cells; the scriptorium and storehouses had been ransacked and anything of value was being packed and sent back to the Fire Nation. What was considered worthless, they burned – so many books, so much history, lost.

The blood of my brothers still stained the scorched walls and corridors where I had once run between lessons in writing and sparring practice. Very few of the _sohei_ remained, of course – it is not the way of the _sohei_ to surrender to firebenders or to any foe, for that matter.

"I was herded into one of the underground store-rooms, where we had once kept our rice. All that was gone, the grains and bales replaced by dazed and defeated townsfolk, those who were too valuable to kill outright or simply had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I could find none of my brothers, and learned that even the novices had entered the hopeless battle to protect the city. They were dead, all of them, or so I was assured by those I spoke to.

For days, I was kept locked up in that room, crushed on all sides by strangers who cared not a whit if their neighbor died sleeping next to them. They were little better than animals at that point – dead bodies were handed out, more barely living bodies pushed in to replace them, and all they cared about was the scrapings of food and dribbles of water the Fire Nation gave us. I might have become like them – I was ready to give up hope by the fourth day, when I heard a rumor that Abbot Isei and my master were still alive, being kept elsewhere in the fortress so the General could extract the secrets of brotherhood from them.

What these "secrets" could possibly be, I had no idea, but it gave me a reason to live, to escape. At the very least, the monastery is more than simply a fortress – in our glory days, the _sohei _were skilled at construction, even those among us who weren't earthbenders. The warren beneath the fortress had always been off-limits to novices (mainly because it was old and in danger of collapsing), but the secret passages within the walls themselves are well-known to me. I highly doubted the Fire Nation could have discovered them all. It took very little time for me to find the secondary exit from the storeroom, once I had a reason to. Naturally, I encouraged the rest of my fellow prisoners to escape at the same time, and easily slipped into the keep during the confusion the breakout produced."

-0-0-

"How many?" The archer interrupts this time.

"'How many' what?" I ask, though I'm fairly certain I know what he's talking about.

"How many of the others were killed, trying to escape?"

"I don't know," I lied, "Some, surely."

-0-0-

"I kept low for a week, trying to find out where they would keep the abbot and my master, slipping in and out of passages behind walls and below floors like lizard-rat. Finally, I located the abbot – he was being kept in the prior's old office.

He did seem a bit surprised when my head popped up through the floor that night – I think I interrupted his evening meditation. "Why are you here?' he asked.

'To rescue you and Master Shiro,' I replied.

He refused to leave. 'I am dying, young novice,' he said, like he was actually looking forward to death. I remember his hand on my head and the way his eyes stared into mine, just as they had a year before.

He told me that my master was dead – he had been wounded during the battle, and had managed to survive for a few days on sheer willpower alone. I had missed them dragging his body to the midden to be burned by less than an hour.

'What secrets do they want?' I demanded - if I wasn't certain that the guards outside the door would come rushing in and finish us both off, I would have shouted at him. Didn't he care that our brothers were dead?

'Secrets?' He seemed to fade slightly, and I realized I had missed something rather important. His hands and arms were poorly wrapped in bandages that could not soak up all the blood and pus seeping from the wounds beneath. He could not move from his position on the floor because his legs (and possibly his back) were broken.

He was not the abbot I had known – he was a broken vessel, soulless, destroyed by sorrow and torture.

'You won't get them from me!' he hissed, shoving me away with more strength than I thought possible. I only just managed not to fall through the hole I had come up though.

The pain of his motion made him lucid, for a moment. 'You came back,' he said evenly, and I could almost believe he had overcome the agony, 'Why did you come back? All of our order is dead. What the Earth King and the Avatar began, the Fire Nation has completed.'

'I'm _sohei_,' I told him, 'That's why you sent me away, isn't it? So I would know that there was no place in the world for me to belong but here, right? '

He stared at me. 'A _sohei _is at home wherever his heart is at peace,' he said, 'Wherever he finds innocence to protect, wisdom to learn, he is _sohei_. Young one…'

There were voices in the corridor outside, and I could hear iron boots approaching.

'Go,' he ordered me, seizing my shoulder, 'Go and live a normal life. Forget what has happened here, and live!'

He was stronger than he looked, and forced me back down the way I had come.

I visited him twice more, trying to convince him to leave with me.

The last time, the room was empty, and I knew that he was dead. I believe the Fire Army general grew tired of his stubbornness and had him killed.

After that, I could only watch helplessly as the Fire Nation solidified their control of the city. I set other prisoners free, sabotaged what I could, but it was never enough, never enough to drive them away, or even hurt them. They are too many, too strong, and I am only one."

-0-0-

"You mean, you were," Jet says softly, after a moment.

"Hmph. Are you saying you're not going to let the little one kill me now?"

"Smellerbee?"

The little girl frowns, toys with her knife, shakes her head. "Naw. I guess…. Well, it's not like I don't understand." She stands, turns her back to me, her mind made up. "If Jet says okay, I guess I can put up with you."

"Longshot?"

The archer hesitates, but nods, once.

"Okay, then." Jet gets to his feet and offers me his hand once more. "Guess we better get a move on, right? We still gotta put some miles between us and that army down there."

"Sounds like a good idea," I agree, taking it. _'You're it. You will become the weapon I'll use to strike back at the Fire Nation.'_ "Thank you."

* * *

**A/N:** This story might seem somewhat parallel to Aang's, but that's on purpose - I'm actually starting to have a method to my madness involving this project (evil laugh). As a result, everything that happened in Episode 10 is going to have different spin, down the line. 

As for the _sohei_, a Buddhist sect of warrior-monks under the same name did exist in feudal Japan from the mid-tenth century until the late 16th, when they were essentially wiped out by the warlord Oda Nobunaga because they posed a threat to his Japan unification campaign. A few survived into the Edo era, but soon faded into history.


	6. Cold Comfort

Just a story that came to me that demanded to be written down. This would have taken place within a month of _Belonging Place.**  
**_

**Ages for this story:** Smellerbee: 8; Longshot: 11 (Jet: 13)

* * *

_**Cold Comfort**_

They smelled the village long before they saw it.

"Jet…" Smellerbee said to the older boy in a tight voice, her hand already drifting to the kukri at her back.

Jet nodded wordlessly, his eyes immediately going to the third member of their party.

Longshot had already nocked an arrow to his bow; he had only traveled with Smellerbee and Jet for a month, but the trio already functioned as a unit. They moved off into the green shadows of the forest, crouching in a small hollow that allowed Jet to keep an eye on the narrow road they had just left.

"What do you think?" he asked in a low voice.

"Keep going," Smellerbee said immediately, "We haven't seen anyone coming up from ahead. It might have been a couple days. Someone might need help."

"Right. Longshot?"

Longshot paused. The smell of scorched earth and burning wood had awoken unpleasant memories only too freshly buried. There was also a chance that the Fire Nation might still be patrolling up ahead.

"Okay, then," Jet said, understanding Longshot's nod, "Forward it is. But we stay off the road. Bee…"

"Way ahead of you." Bee crawled up out of the hollow and scampered up a nearby tree. She vanished into the thick cover of leaves and Longshot had to strain to hear her as she began making her way above their heads toward the village as skillfully as a raccoon-squirrel.

"Let's go," Jet said, tiger-hook swords drawn.

---

Jet chewed grimly on a twig as he turned slowly on his heel, narrowed eyes scanning the desolation that surrounded them. "Half a day, a day at most," he said finally.

Longshot winced as the skeletal framed of yet another burned out shell of a house collapsed in on itself, throwing up sparks, ash, and foul smoke.

Smellerbee spat out an invective so vitriolic that Longshot was surprised the rest of the ruins in the vicinity did not fall down. "Bastards!" she continued, "This place was just a farming village! There weren't any soldiers here!"

"There aren't that many bodies," Jet observed, "It was a raid. The Fire Nation Army must be getting ready to move in this direction, and they're using terror tactics to demoralize the populations further north." He threw the twig to one side. "Nothing we can do here. Let's see if there's anything to salvage and get a move on. The main force might be coming through soon."

"Longshot, what's wrong?" Smellerbee asked as Jet stalked off in one direction, disappearing around the corner of the ash-stained stone wall of what had once been the village meeting house.

Longshot set his quiver and bow on the demolished well that had served as the village's communal water supply, cushioning them on his cape and covering them with his hat. He glanced at Smellerbee.

"Oh." She chewed her lip. "I'll help. There's gotta be some shovels or something that aren't completely burned up."

Longshot bowed his head gratefully. He had not been able to bury his family when he had fled his village from just such a raid as this. Smellerbee understood his need to give perfect strangers a proper burial.

"Guys! Guys, get over here! I need your help!"

Smellerbee and Longshot took off in the direction of Jet's shout.

"Careful, it might collapse any second," Jet warned as they came up to him. He was standing just inside of a still-smoldering but remarkably intact house. His swords lay on the ground in the dirt forecourt, as if he had flung them to one side. "There's a kid in here; he's pinned and we need to clear him out before the rest of the place falls in." He moved forward, now talking to whoever was in the house, "It's okay, my friends are here, we're going to get you out from under there."

Smellerbee and Longshot warily crossed the threshold behind him, and Longshot saw that Jet's warning had been a bit of an understatement. The intact façade had been deceiving; the interior of the two-story house had fallen in, and flames were still eating away at the standing walls like livid termites.

"Over here." Jet waved them over to one side, near the hearth of what had once been the kitchen. Blackened rafters from the roof splayed across the space like twigs thrown by a careless giant. At Jet's feet, barely visible under a pile of stone and splintered boards, the soot-and blood-streaked face of boy about Smellerbee's age stared up at them in mute panic and agony.

"He's going into shock," Jet informed them in clipped tones, "I think he was unconscious the first time we swept through, and then woke up. Lucky I heard him calling."

"What's your name?" Smellerbee asked, crouching beside the child and scrutinizing the pile of rubble that covered him nearly up to the neck.

"Sh-sh-shen," he managed to get out, his hoarse voice barely above a whisper. The effort it took to speak made him cough and wheeze, blood bubbling up out of his pale lips.

"Shit!" Jet swore under his breath. He had already seized one end of a rafter, attempting to shove it off to one side to get at the large beam that was crushing Shen's chest.

_'He's bleeding inside,' _Longshot realized, _'He's going to die no matter what we do.'_

"Longshot, get your skinny ass over here and help me or I'll punt it all the way to Ba Sing Se!" Jet growled, and meant it.

Rage thundered through Longshot's veins. Grabbing the other end of the rafter Jet was wrestling with, ignoring the bite of splinters that pierced the wrappings on his palms, he helped the other boy to stand the heavy beam on one end, leaning it against the plastered wall beside the hearth.

Smellerbee, who had been talking to Shen in a low voice in an effort to keep him calm and awake, suddenly burst out, "Stop!"

Jet and Longshot froze. "What, Bee?" Jet demanded tersely, scowling but not moving.

Smellerbee placed a finger on her lips, glaring at him. "Listen," she said quietly.

Longshot cocked his ears, but heard nothing but the soft moans of the boy and the crackle of consuming flames.

"The walls are about to come down," Smellerbee said, "They can't stay up much longer." She looked at the single beam that pinned Shen in place. "If we move that," she pointed at it, then at the haphazard thicket of beams clustered about at the end pointing toward the center of the house, "those beams are going to fall over and knock into the walls there and there. This whole place will come down like a pile a bricks."

"That's pretty much all it is right now," Jet observed, "Are you suggesting we just leave him?"

Smellerbee hesitated. "Jet…"

"Don't… leave me…" Shen gasped. Straining, he pulled an arm free from where it had been pinned to his chest by the beam, scraping it raw. Grabbing Smellerbee's sleeve, he pleaded, "Don't leave me!"

"We're not going to," Jet replied firmly, looking at Longshot and Smellerbee in turn, "Right?"

"Of course not," Longshot said, surprising himself. Smellerbee nodded, nervously patting Shen's hand as she tried to ease his deathgrip.

Jet grinned tightly, then surveyed the scene. "Okay, this is how we're going to do it," he said after several seconds, "Longshot, you and I are going to lift this beam up just enough for Bee to drag Shen out from under it…"

"He's pretty banged up already," Smellerbee interrupted, "and there might be more stuff pinning him we just can't see. Moving him like that might…"

"And he'll be really banged up if the whole damn place comes down on him!" Jet bit out in a tone that brooked no further argument. He moved off carefully to one side and laid hold of a sturdy bench that seemed an insult to the rest of the house for its pristine condition. "We'll keep it propped up with this while we get him out from under there. Longshot, we need to go slowly; I'll edge this thing underneath the beam with my foot as we lift, okay?"

Longshot nodded an affirmative and went to stand by Jet at the end of the beam. "All right, on three – Bee, get ready to drag him out – one… two… THREE!"

The beam would have been hard enough to lift for its weight under the best of circumstances, but trying to ease it up without disturbing the rest of the pile while trying to ignore the sounds of Shen's cries of pain as Smellerbee attempted to manhandle him to safety as the house crackled and creaked ominously around their ears inspired Longshot to offer sincere prayers to any and every spirit, demon, and deity who might be listening. _'Just help us to get out of here alive! Just help use to get out of here alive! Just help us….!'_

"Longshot, I got it – help Bee!" Jet grunted, sweat streaming down his red face as he hooked the bench under the beam with his foot.

Longshot let go and ignored Jet's grunt of pain as he took on the full weight of the beam. "Longshot, something's got his legs!" Smellerbee said, her voice high with fear. She continued to pull at Shen's shoulders, every muscle in her thin frame straining against the invisible force that defied her strength. "Help him!"

Longshot thrust his head into the tangled wreckage, and saw that Shen's right foot was trapped by two beams that held it in place like the pincers of a scorpion-crab. There was only one thing to do.

Shen screamed in agony as Longshot wrenched his foot free, breaking both bones in his lower leg in the process. He fainted limply in Smellerbee's arms.

"Longshot, get out of there!" Jet yelled, finally able to rest the beam on the bench. He shoved Smellerbee to one side and jerked Shen out from under the wreckage in one movement.

Lonshot backed up quickly, banging his shoulder on a beam so hard that white sparks exploded in his vision. The beam broke, causing the whole pile to creak and sway and then, ever-so-slowly, to collapse.

"LONGSHOT!!" Smellerbee and Jet yelled as the house began to cave in around them.

"Smellerbee, get outside!" Jet ordered, slinging the unconscious child over his shoulders as debris, dust, ash, and flames rained down on them, "SMELLERBEE, GET OUTSIDE!!" he yelled over the roar of the collapsing house, grabbing the slight girl by the back of her collar and dragging her back just as she lunged at Longshot.

They tumbled outside, Jet tripping and stumbling over the doorframe, but managing to push Smellerbee ahead of him before he fell, Shen's deadweight on his shoulders.

The house that had become a deathtrap crumbled into rubble just behind him in a terrible cacophony of splintering stone and plaster and wood.

Dead quiet followed. Jet, his face pressed into the dirt, gratefully breathed in the dust and ash, amazed to still be alive. Carefully, he disentangled himself from Shen, who was still unconscious. '_Lucky kid,'_ Jet reflected, laying the boy out on his back to examine him. His legs and arms, in addition to being scraped and bruised from the collapse, were also burned in several places, as was one whole side of his torso; his right foot was twisted at a weird angle that made Jet slightly nauseous just to look at. Shen's clothes, which had once been a sturdy tunic and short pants of homespun cotton cloth, were little more than rags of indeterminate color, burnt and shredded by splintered wood and stone. His stomach just below his jutting ribcage was bruised dark purple. _'He'll be lucky if he doesn't have a broken rib… or four. And he's probably bleeding inside.'_ "Smellerbee, are you…?"

The punch sent him reeling onto his back and almost broke his nose. "IT'S YOUR FAULT!!!" Smellerbee screamed, tears streaming clear sparkling tracks down her soot-black face as she jumped on top of Jet and began beating him around the head and shoulders with her small fists. "YOU KILLED HIM!! HE'S DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!!"

Jet resisted the instinct to throw her off, to protect his face, to raise a protest. Instead, he lay quietly under her blows, eyes closed and accepting. _'It's all right – this is how it should be. I should have saved him. I got him killed for nothing.'_ Rage and disgust roiled in his chest; he had lost another important person to the Fire Nation because of his weakness. _'When does it end?'_

"Smellerbee!" Smellerbee yelped in surprise as she was yanked clean off her feet, strong arms binding hers to her sides. She struggled, ready to tear into the fool who had interrupted her.

"Smellerbee!"

Smellerbee froze. "Longshot?" she breathed, not wanting to hope. Hope was too cruel.

"I'm all right," Longshot told her, very carefully setting her down, prepared to run in case she started waling on him as well. "You don't need to get angry with Je- OOF!!"

"Dammit, I thought you were dead!" Smellerbee howled, sobbing into his chest as she crushed his ribcage with her surprisingly strong arms, "Don't you _dare_ scare me like that ever again!"

Longshot nodded obediently, not because he had resumed his usual reticence, but for the simple reason he could not get the air to voice his assent.

Jet got up carefully, dusting off his clothes to have something to concentrate on other than Smellerbee and Longshot. His busted lip was spilling blood into his mouth, and he spat the metallic-tasting liquid to one side, sighing as he touched his already-closing left eye. _'A bit of a cruel joke, don't you think?'_ he asked the Universe in general and no one in particular as he turned his back to them and knelt beside Shen.

Smellerbee realized Longshot probably could use some air right then and released him with self-conscious abruptness. "I'm glad you're okay," she said quietly, staring at the ground and swiping away the tears that were still spilling from her eyes for some ridiculous reason.

"Me, too," Longshot said. His gaze went to Jet. "Jet…"

"I'm sorry, Longshot," Jet interrupted without turning around, "I should have been the one to…"

"No. You wouldn't have been able to fit through the window," Longshot averred, coming over to him and laying a hand on the older boy's shoulder.

"There was a window?" Jet asked, staring up at him in bemusement.

"It was right behind us the whole time," Longshot answered, crooking a smile, "We almost put the beam through it when we pulled off Shen, remember?"

"No, I don't," Jet admitted ruefully. He frowned and suddenly looked away. "Thank the spirits for your skinny ass, right?" he said thickly.

"You bet I am," Longshot agreed, kneeling beside Jet to get a closer look at Shen.

Smellerbee hung back. "Jet… I…"

"We need to keep him warm," Jet said, looking over his shoulder at her, "Smellerbee, can you get the blanket from my pack, and go and see if you can't find anything to bind and set his leg?"

Smellerbee stared at him. Jet smiled. "You're getting better with your fists. I don't mind being your punching bag, just give me some warning next time, all right?" The girl nodded, her lips quirking into a half-hearted reflection of Jet's grin before she turned and raced back to the center of town where they had left their few belongings.

"He's not going to make it," Jet said as soon as she was out of earshot, "He's too badly hurt."

Longshot nodded, laying a hand on the boy's forehead, which was cold and clammy underneath the grime. Shen's breathing was rapid and shallow, rasping liquidly from his slightly opened mouth.

"I wonder why he was in the house at all," Jet continued, carrying on a one-sided conversation for wont of something to do, "It's obvious the Fire Nation executed a couple villagers just to set them fleeing in panic before burning the village. Why'd he come back? Was there something he was looking for in that house?"

_'It doesn't matter now,'_ Longshot thought, staring down at Shen's agonized face. They only knew his name. The boy was too far gone to tell them anything else about himself, about his family, his village. He was nothing more than a victim of the Fire Nation, one of tens of thousands, remarkable only because they had happened upon him in his last hour and risked their lives to save him, even if it had all been in vain from the start.

"At least he won't go out alone," Jet was saying, "We'll stay the night here. The sun's going to set soon anyway, so there's no point in leaving. And… we'll bury him and the rest of the villagers. That's all we can do. That's all we can ever do!" He sat back on his haunches, staring up at the sky, his teeth bared in a feral growl. "_**IT'S ALL WE CAN EVER DO!!**_" he shouted at the uncaring heavens.

---

Shen died three hours after sunset, having never woken up again. Smellerbee washed his face with some water and tied his long singed hair in a ragged topknot before helping Jet and Longshot to wrap the body in the a cloak she had scrounged from a chest of clothes in one of the other ruins.

A nearby field, freshly plowed and waiting for seeds that would never planted served as the resting place of the fifteen bodies the children recovered.

There were probably more, but Jet forbade them from going into any of the ruins.

Longshot turned to look back once as they reached the top of the hill to the north of town, continuing on their journey that had no desitnation

_'I'll remember you,'_ he promised, _'I'll remember that you are named Shen, and that you died here and that I buried you here. I'll remember you the next time I kill a Fire Nation soldier with my arrows. I'll remember you.'_

It was cold comfort, the promise to remember, but it was all he had to offer.

**_End_**


	7. Blood Bonds

My goodnessthe _WildChild _muse has really taken my brain and run with it of late. (gazes fondly as muse, which looks like an SD-Smellerbee wearing Longshot's hat, tear-asses around her room). I'm working on the last few pages of the **_WildChild 02: Fair Play _**doujin, which is linked in my profile.

Lots of blood and angst in this one - I've finally written my version of how the first two Freedom Fighters, Jet and Smellerbee, came together. **WARNING:** graphic descriptions of death and killing and sickness.

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_**WildChild 07: Blood Bond  
**_

**Ages**: Smellerbee: 6; Jet: 11

-----

She hardly dared to breathe, huddled, cowering there behind the scant cover of brush like a rabbit. The soldiers that had chased them quickly tired their sport and left it to the most insignificant of their group to finish off the mad woman who had (somehow) suddenly torn free of the line of bound and broken captives, and had (just as suddenly and without warning), turned to gave battle with naught else but her teeth and nails. Those soldiers, save the one left with the annoying task of spitting the still-breathing would-be-slave on his spear, returned to the convoy, falling back into their usual places beside the weary, stumbling flock that was their charge.

The lone soldier, whether out of spite or laziness, only plunged his spear down once – the woman spasmed, shrieked, laid still. It was good enough for him. He turned on his heel after his comrades without a backward glance.

She waited until she could no longer hear the stamp of his iron-shod boots on the earth. Her heart hammering in her ears did not make this an easy task, as she would start and flinch at every sound, real, or imagined emitted by the night-shrouded forest. But mother… mother was lying there, still and quiet.

The little girl chewed her lip to bleeding and scittered out from her hiding place, making soft mewling noises in the back of her throat that got louder as she got closer to her mother and saw the blood spilled out on the forest floor, shiny and black like fresh tar in the moonlight.

Little dirt-streaked hands sought larger ones stained with blood. The woman, who had been staring glassy-eyed up at the white iris of the moon, blinked slowly, recalled momentarily from her dying trance.

"My daughter," she tried to say, but a strange paralysis had gripped her voice. Struggling, welcoming the pain that came with movement (because it meant that she was alive), she turned her head, fixing her darkening sight on the pale, pathetic face of her only surviving child. It was for this child - this cringing, sniffling, all-too-small, too-precious life that she had sacrificed hers. "You will never be a slave. You will be free," she told the little girl, the words coming through more clearly in her thoughts than through her lips.

Only one thing remained. The woman reached up, caressing tear-damp cheeks with her thumb. The girl stopped crying, leaning into her mother's hand, clinging to it, torn between fear and comfort. With great effort, the woman trailed the fore- and middle-fingers of her other hand over the wound in her side (the soldier had been careless indeed) – they came away dripping warm dark lifeblood.

"For your father," she intoned, marking the girl's left cheek with one stroke down to her jaw. Another stroke just below. "For your older brother." A streak on the right cheek. "For your younger brother." One last mark below it. "For me."

The girl gaped silently, hands briefly fluttering up to her face, but not daring to touch the sticky, wet crimson streaks, lest she mar them. Marks such as these (less one) graced her mother's face, and though the little one could not know the terrible promise they contained, she knew well enough that they carried a deep significance.

"I love you," her mother tried to say, but her strength finally failed her. The blood oath was passed on; farewells were not so important anyway.

The child sniffled one last time and closed her mother's eyes.

-----

"The polite thing to say when you run into someone is, 'Excuse me'," the boy with wild brown hair and wilder eyes drawled.

The little girl blinked up at him, winded from having been thrown flat on her back quicker than the strike of a scorpion-snake. "Ah…"

"Which way did that brat go?!" Harsh, commanding shouts rang out above the dusty bustle of the small marketplace, seeming to amplify in the narrow alleyway that stank of garbage left too long in the summer sun.

The little girl's eyes went impossibly wider and she started up with a gasp.

The boy quirked a sharp eyebrow and looked over his shoulder. "Ah, Fire Nation soldiers," he remarked, noting the group of five red-armor-clad men in their distinctive horned helmets that parted the crowd like the prow of a ship. He reached out and latched onto the girl's bone-thin arm with an iron grip. "They after you?"

She nodded frantically in reply, trying desperately (and vainly) to twist free – the boy was stronger than he looked.

"They don't chase kids just because they stole something from the melon cart," he continued, mostly to himself as though inured to the kicks the terrified girl was delivering to his shins, "You've gotta be…" Without warning, he pulled down the collar of the girl's tattered and stained tunic, baring the nape of her neck.

With a growl that would have made a pygmy panther flee, the little girl whipped her head around and fastened her teeth on the boy's forearm.

"Ye-OWCH!!" the boy blurted, following it immediately with a curse word that would shame a veteran whore, "Dammit, I'm trying to help you!"

The one of the Fire Nation soldiers, who had been tearing apart the stall of a hapless vegetable-seller, looked up at the boy's outburst and immediately began stalking toward the alleyway.

"Shit!" The boy shoved the girl roughly into a steaming, putrid pile of rotting fruit, throwing an old tattered straw mat over her head. "Stay there and shut up!"

The tone of his voice (and the way his eyes blazed) made the girl's heart stop for a moment. She burrowed further down into the midden without complaint.

"What's going on here?"

"Oh, h-hello… sir."

The girl peered through the holes of the straw mat, unable to believe that the boy who had scared her so severely with just a look could sound so fearful and obsequious. His back was to her, blocking most of her view of the soldier.

The soldier regarded the cringing urchin in front of him, his disgusted sneer hidden by his white faceplate. The boy looked ready to piss his pants. "Did you see a little girl run through here?"

"Um… what did she look like?" the boy asked in a small voice, ducking his head as though expecting to get his ear boxed.

The soldier was almost tempted to oblige him – he despised weakling Earth Kingdom colonials, especially their snot-nosed brats. But the boy was being polite and scaring him any further would probably work against getting anything useful out of him.

"About this tall," the soldier held his hand out, measuring a distance from the ground that met the point of the boy's chin, "with four red streaks on her cheeks. Seen her?"

"Were they all on one cheek? Or did she have two on each side? 'Cuz it'd be kinda weird to have four streaks on one side of your face and nothing on the other side, don't you think? Sir?" The boy was babbling. The soldier grimaced and raised his fist; the boy immediately cringed and shut his trap with a snap.

"Did you or did you not see a little girl matching that description?" the soldier ground out with more patience than the little idiot deserved.

"Noooooo… why? Did she do something wrong?" the boy replied hesitantly, looking genuinely curious.

The solider resisted the urge to bang his forehead with his palm and settled for cuffing the boy upside the head instead. The boy instinctively raised his arms to protect himself; the soldier noticed a suspicious wound on his right forearm.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded, seizing the boy's wrist and twisting his arm up so that he might confirm his guess. Yes… the bite-mark was clearly human, though very small. Small enough to have come from the mouth of a little girl…

"Please don't hurt me, sir, I'm sorry I asked! Really I am! Please don't hurt me!" the boy wailed and blubbered at the top of his lungs.

"Shut up!" the soldier barked, twisting the boy's arm further so that his shoulder joint creaked under the strain, "Who bit you?"

The boy forcibly clamped his lips shut against a whimper of pain. "I don't know _what_ it was, sir," he gasped, "I was digging around in that garbage there," he waved his free hand at the pile of refuse behind the soldier, "looking for something to eat, and _something_ big and black and really, really mean jumped out and bit me! It ran down that way." He pointed down the alley, away from the marketplace.

"You're lying," the soldier accused, glaring at the child, "I can put you under arrest for that, and send you to the slave gangs!"

The boy stared up at him, his face blanched under the smears of dirt, streaked with tears. But his eyes…

"You there! Private! Let's get a move on!"

The soldier started, looked over his shoulder. His sergeant was approaching, the other men in the squad flanking him. "Let that kid go – that runaway slave isn't here. She must be halfway out of town by now. I've sent word to the garrison, they'll be on the look out."

"But, sergeant!" the soldier protested, "This boy, he…!"

"I've already had to discipline you once about bullying the townsfolk, soldier," the sergeant interrupted in a cold, even voice, "If I have to report you to the commander…"

With an oath muttered under his breath, the soldier loosed the boy, savoring the yelp he emitted as he fell in a heap in the dirt.

"Fall in," the sergeant ordered, disgust at his subordinate's sadism clear in his voice.

"I owe you for that," the boy whispered as the soldier walked away.

The soldier half-turned, his eyes meeting the boy's. Where before they had been defiant, now they were lit with bloodlust and hate. An unholy chill raced down the soldier's spine and he hurried to rejoin his comrades as they were swallowed up by the crowd.

The little girl, unable to bear the heat and stench of the garbage pile for an instant longer, burst out of her hiding place, flinging putrid produce every which way. "Blech!"

The boy turned and regarded her with a wry arch of his eyebrows. "Hey, don't knock garbage heaps – they'll save your life more often than you can imagine, since most soldiers won't bother digging through them."

The little girl sent him a glance that clearly communicated her dubious assessment of his statement as she began wiping bits of noisome near-liquid fruit medley from her arms and legs.

"You're welcome," the boy said sarcastically. He regarded her critically, sizing up her petite, wiry build, the wild bush of her brown hair, the blood-stripes on her face. "So, you're an escaped slave? I figured you had to be, to have _them _chasing after you. That, and the brand on your back…"

The little girl stiffened, one hand flying to the Fire Nation symbol seared into the flesh just below the nape of her neck. It was bleeding again – it had never healed properly for some reason, not even with all the salt water mother had poured on it because they had no medicine…

_Mama…_

"Hey, you alright?" the boy asked as the girl stumbled in place, making high-pitched mewing sounds unlike any human language. Without a word, she slumped into a boneless, unconscious heap.

"… crap," the boy observed, noticing the flush of fever on her cheeks. Heaving a sigh, he pulled the feather-light girl over his shoulders, grunting slightly with the effort.

---

"Eat this."

She screwed up her eyelids, hoping to fool him just a couple seconds longer.

"Look, I'll just pour it on your face if you don't listen to me," he warned, and given what she had witnessed of his attitude, she believed it to be more a promise than a threat.

He smirked as his charge sat bolt upright, glaring at him mutely with ferocious anger. He proffered the steaming bowl of stewed turnip, onion, and meat whose source was better left unquestioned.

Warily, the girl accepted the chipped pottery bowl, which looked like it had been retrieved from the trash heap of a well-to-do household (which is what it was). Sniffing at it delicately, she found she was hungry and immediately tipped the broth down her dry, parched throat.

"Take it easy," he ordered as she coughed and choked and sloshed the contents of the bowl, "You look like you haven't had any decent food for a while. You'll make yourself sicker if you eat too quick."

She mumbled something that might have been thanks or agreement or a suggestion to do something anatomically improbable with a large root vegetable; in any case, she sipped at the watery flavorless soup, using her fingers to scoop the meat and vegetables into her mouth. As she ate, her dark, impossibly wide eyes flicked about, absorbing everything. She (and her… rescuer? She did not quite know what to think about the brash, bullying boy who had saved her life just yet) were in what appeared to be the room an abandoned house or shack. Wan light from a waning gibbous moon peeped through cracks in the walls, which were no more than boards. Night insects called and chirped and sang nearby. A thin blanket covered her bare legs – odd, she remembered wearing pantaloons under her tunic. There was no fire or candlelight, which made her wonder just how he had cooked the food she was now eating.

As if reading her thoughts, the boy opened with, "You were out for about a day and a half. You still have a bit of a fever – it's from that damned slave brand on your back, it was infected. I managed to get some medicine for it and for your fever, but you can't be moving around just yet."

She blinked at him, gulped the last vestige of broth in the bowl and handed it to him in a gesture that clearly read, "More."

He frowned, but took the bowl and turned to one side, where a half-empty iron pot with miniature legs stood. Ladling another serving into the bowl, he handed it back to her. "I burned your old clothes, they would've made the infection worse," he continued as if there had been no break in his monologue.

She glanced down at her clothes, confirming his statement – the tunic she was wearing was far too big and clean and smelled softly of lilacs; most likely, her benefactor had stolen it from an unguarded clothesline.

"That a problem?" he asked challengingly, his eyes catching the moonlight in a way that reminded her of predators surrounding her family's campfire.

She shook her head mutely. The boy's eyes and the brief memory they sparked opened the floodgates to a wave grief and confusion, accompanied by a maelstrom of sights and sounds that enveloped her in a fever-dream: her father and mother, singing together in a language that was different from the way this boy spoke; her older brother juggling river stones; her baby brother nestled in her arms, wailing because he was hungry. Her father's body bristling with arrows; her older brother, screaming as he was crushed under the merciless feet of a charging beast mounted by a white-faced, red-horned devil; her mother wailing as her baby brother was torn from her by another of those monsters; her mother's hands clawing over her eyes to hide whatever had happened to him. Her mother, stiff and cold and smelling of copper and death on the forest floor…

"I _told_ you not to eat so quickly!" he chastised, looking away as she was sick, the meal so recently consumed splattering on the dirt floor.

Choking and sobbing, the little girl retched, squeezing her eyes tight and clenching every fiber of her small body as she willed the horrible nightmares (memories) away. The healing scar on her back throbbed like a heartbeat. For several minutes the only sound was her gasping cries and the song of insects.

"The Fire Nation took them from you, didn't they?" he asked softly, though he made no move toward her, allowing her to scrape her dignity together on her own.

Wiping her mouth with the blanket and scooting away from the ill-smelling mess, she nodded, before huddling her arms around her legs and burying her face in her knees.

"Father, mother… older brother… baby brother…"

She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye in amazement. "You were crying for them," he supplied, "The whole time." He paused, more for dramatic emphasis than from any hesitation at causing her further pain. "You saw the Fire Nation kill each of them."

She nodded again, slowly, unable to cry anymore for lack of energy and fluid. She felt so tired, so empty, like she was one of those dull, dried up leaves that crackled underfoot in the autumn.

"They're all gone," she said heavily, although she knew the boy could not possibly understand what she was saying in the special language her family had shared. She touched her cheeks, where vestiges of the marks she had renewed with her own blood since that night still clung, "They are only here, now."

He cocked his head to one side, narrowing his eyes, evaluating her yet again. She felt his scrutiny and shot him a defiant grimace. "I'm weak now – but I'll fight them!" she declared, switching to the language she knew he understood.

A cold grin split his face, glinted in his eyes. "You might be worth my time, after all…"

_**WildChild 07: Fin.**_

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**A/N: **Heh, my little Jet is so vicious, in't he? I want to plant a seed of an idea, that once he found something and someone to protect in Bee (and Longshot, and Sneers, and so on), his rage was evened out somewhat, that he was even more unbalanced before the Freedom Fighters (or perhaps, just unbalanced in a different kind of way...)_  
_


	8. Equitable Expectation

I know what you're thinking: an Avatar OC??! **_HERESY!!! _**(burn the witch!) But before you come at me with those ropes and torches, I'm posting this after writing it for an extremely talented friend who is drawing/writing a post-war Freedom Fighter's comic. If you have no idea who or what I'm talking about, get your bum right over to devART and go through **SioUte**'s gallery right now! Her comic, _Plight of the Freedom Fighters_, is an epic of storytelling, focused on my most beloved Avatar minor characters.

As I said, she's making a post-war sequel, and asked me to contribute. Thus far, I've suggested a new character who will give the Freedom Fighter world more depth. She's based on me (dodges hail of rotten veggy matter), left over from an OC contest on devART, but never mind - this story is actually about Sneers, and his gallant rescue of a damsel in distress.

More or less. Please look forward to _Plight of the Freedom Fighters 2 _when it debuts!

**Ages for this story: **Sneers: 18; Jet: 17; Skillet: 19

* * *

**Equitable Expectation**

_Or: How Sneers Met Skillet_

It was, he supposed, a consequence of his upbringing – one could not expect a child brought up in the isolated, militaristic confines of a monastery of a renegade sect to be entirely comfortable associating with a _rabid_band of _hooligans_ culled from every sacked city and devastated farming village in the leagues that separate Omashu and Ba Sing Se, could they?

Of course not. Thus, he felt completely justified in skipping out on the tiresome, _noisy and annoying_ task of shifting the base of Freedom Fighter operations from their customary arboreal abode to the caves situated in the cliffs three miles to the north in preparation for the oncoming winter.

"Who does he think he is, General Kizune?" Sneers grumbled to himself, chunking another large rock into the torpid green-brown stream with a hollow _thwup!_ "'We have to get ready for winter!'" he continued, mimicking Jet's argument in a falsetto the other boy most assuredly would never use, even after a bottle of fire-whiskey. "Feh!"

He settled back against the leaning trunk and gnarled roots of some deceased forest giant, too absorbed in his dark ruminations to really pay attention to the beautiful autumnal surroundings.

_'You're the one who's supposed to plan for stuff like this.'_

Jet's sharp (and appropriate) recrimination re-echoed in his head. _'So what if I think it's more important we use this lull in their activities to strike! That's what we're __**supposed**__to do! We can't afford to give them an inch!'_ Sneers argued with the Jet in his memory (and himself).

The Fire Nation division occupying the valley had, for whatever reason, settled into a pattern of near-catatonic inactivity. Even messengers and labor detachments had been few and far between in the last two weeks. Jet had taken the respite, not as a perfect opening to launch a strike against another supply depot, but as an opportunity to begin moving supplies to their winter quarters.

_'Last year, we had to run some pretty risky raids just to stay alive,'_ he had reminded Sneers, _'I don't want to lose anymore of use because we didn't think to take care of it beforehand.'_

What had made it all the more galling was the way Smellerbee and Longshot had shook their heads and whispered together as Jet shot down all of Sneers' counter-arguments.

"Fine then, if you don't want my advice, you certainly don't need my services as a draft ostrich-horse," Sneers had announced, storming away from the trio.

Jet had hurried after him, of course, insisting that he _at least_ show the way to a new gaggle of brats. Sneers had complied only because to refuse point-blank would have encouraged Jet (or Smellerbee, or Longhost, OR Pipsqueak (on the orders of any of the others above)) to keep a watchful eye on him.

Thus, having safely delivered the batch of rugrats to their temporary home, Sneers strolled off in search of something more interesting to do.

Wandering aimlessly and chucking rocks into a stream would only occupy him for a little while, however, and only lead to tugs at what was left of his conscience.

"Something happen already," he griped, skipping a flat pebble across the stream, feeling bored out of his skull.

"_KI-__**YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!**_"

The scream reverberated through the forest, making the raccoon-squirrel who had been contentedly enjoying his mid-afternoon repast in the branches of Sneers' makeshift armchair squeak with surprise, dropping its half-chewed nut square on the young ex-monk's head.

"…I hate you too," Sneers informed the Universe.

(The Universe stuck out its tongue and flashed an obscene gesture, enjoying the boy's torment immensely)

"Fine, then!" Sneers grunted, hauling himself up the steep bank as another blood-curdling cry sounded as if in encouragement, "I'm coming! Sheez!"

* * *

"Aw, c'mon, sweety, just put it down." 

"Like HELL I will!"

Sneers, sliding stealthily around the broad tree trunk to a firmer perch among its warren of branches, snorted sardonically. _'How cliché a set-up can you get?'_ he asked himself, looking down on the scene, _'This looks like an excerpt from a bad one-copper-piece action scroll!'_

Five Fire Nation soldiers (obviously a scouting party) had accosted a young woman…

… who was currently trying to fend them off with a massive cast-iron skillet.

_'Okay, so __**that's**__ a little different,'_ Sneers amended. The young woman (who wore her brunette hair in ridiculously under-aged pigtails gone ragged from being snagged on low branches and brush) was terrified and trying to make a brave face in a hopeless situation. Her bare forearms and face were scratched and bleeding, her green tunic soiled with mud from when she had taken a fall in her flight. The skillet, her only weapon (though only a fool would consider it so), trembled in her rapidly tiring grasp.

The soldiers, knowing they had the upper hand in every respect, were taking pleasure in toying with her.

Only one was a firebender, Sneers quickly assessed, recognizing the subtle differences in armor. The firebender was older, of higher rank - no doubt the leader of the squad. He was standing back from the melodrama, looking bored and detached, allowing his men to have their fun.

Like the rest, he was oblivious to Sneers, crouched more or less above the main pack of soldiers and their unfortunate quarry. If Sneers was to come to the girl's rescue, he would have to take a risky jump up and out over the others in order to eliminate the most identifiably dangerous threat. Even then, five-to-one odds was not something one just leapt into, unless one possessed an inordinate hero-complex or a blinding deathwish for vengeance against the Fire Nation.

As Sneers fulfilled neither prerequisite, he bided his time, weighing whether or not to risk himself for the faintly attractive female who had blundered so carelessly into the arms of bored soldiers.

"I said, _**stay away from me!**_" the young woman shrieked, swiping at the soldier who, smirking at his comrades, had approached, reached out to grab her arm.

"Argh!" the man yelped, too slow in his overconfidence to avoid catching the full force of the blow on his on his outstretched hand.

The others guffawed at his error, goading him to callously shove the young woman to the ground. "We'll being playing rough later, bitch – don't be in such a hurry!" he spat.

Screaming and thrashing like a madwoman, the girl tried to fend him off as the pack crowded in for the kill. Even the squad leader leaned forward, his face contorted into an ugly mask of carnal glee.

The opportunity of least risk presented itself. _'Enter the hero,'_ Sneers intoned to himself, taking a few running steps down the length of the branches before launching himself like a missile fired from a crossbow.

It really was shameless, how easily he caught the firebender off-guard. He landed squarely on the man's shoulder plates, his weight and his free-fall combining into an instantaneously fatal force; the soldier had not so much as _glanced_ in his direction, gave no grunt of recognition, even as his spine collapsed in on itself. _'So much for the superior training of the Fire Army,'_ Sneers thought, rolling free of the downed firebender to attend to the rest of the soldiers.

It was only when one of their number suddenly hurtled headfirst into the tree the young woman had backed up against that the soldiers had any idea they were under attack. Slewing around, the three left standing reached for their swords, expecting to find themselves face-to-face with a phalanx of Earth Kingdom soldiers. Needless to say, when they found that their assailant was only one, and a boy (a rather large boy… wearing armor… but still, just a boy) at that, they relaxed somewhat, their frightened, angry faces becoming sneering.

"And just what do you think you're doing here, boy?" the one who had attacked the girl demanded, clearly irritated at having his fun interrupted.

"Kicking your asses," Sneers replied, believing in the economy of words as far as enemies were concerned. He darted forward, low and fast, coming up under the soldier's negligible guard. Grabbing the soldier's already injured hand in a crushing grip, Sneers pivoted, swinging the taller man like a bat into the soldier to his left, sending their respective weapons flying as both men fell over in a tangle of limbs and armor.

"Look out!"

_**WHANG!**_

"Ow, dammit!"

Sneers spared a glance over his shoulder and sighed. _'What did she expect was going to happen when she hit a steel helmet full-force with an iron skillet?'_ he asked himself, watching the young woman clutch her hand and curse colorfully, the remaining soldier laid out stone cold at her feet, his helmet slightly dented.

"Thanks, but can you stay out of the way now?" he requested with slightly sarcastic politeness as the two men he had just dealt with finally sorted themselves out. One went scrambling after his sword while the other attacked with deadly intent gleaming in his eyes.

'_Crud,'_ he sighed, dodging the soldier's fists and occasional kicks. The man was fairly decent at unarmed combat, hampered as he was by his armor. Sneers knew he was just buying time for his comrade to retrieve his sword, but that was not very comforting. _'Stand still and let me crush you, dammit!'_

Mere seconds had passed - Sneers felt as though he was mired in a slow-moving eternity as he tried to keep his eye on the other soldier while dealing with the man in front of him. He could easily block and dodge, but battles are not won on the defensive. The opportunity to deal the killing blow continued to evade him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the young woman, completely ignoring his helpful suggestion to not interfere and get killed, run full tilt at the other soldier, her skillet swinging. _'Idiot!'_ he yelled, angered enough by her disregard for common sense to absorb a blow in his solar plexus from his opponent. Gasping for breath, Sneers speared his fore and middle fingers in the man's exposed throat. The soldier choked, fell to one knee; Sneers sent him sprawling with a kick that crushed in his nose. Stomping on the downed man's throat one last time to ensure that he _stayed_ down, he ran to save the young woman from her idiocy.

"I don't suppose you'll put that down and fight me fairly?" she was saying to the soldier who was pointing his sword right at her throat. Her skillet lay to one side, her empty hands raised in feeble defense against the deadly sharp point of the sword.

"Yeah right…" the soldier began.

_**WHANG!**_

"Oog…" he said, crumpling like a puppet cut from its strings.

"Hm, this thing is actually pretty useful," Sneers observed, testing the heft of the skillet he had used to dispatch the last pest.

"My hero!"

"Oof!"

"I'm sorry, I've just always wanted to say that," the older girl informed him, releasing him from a rib-cracking hug and smiling sheepishly.

"Whatever amuses you, just don't do it again," Sneers replied, handing her the skillet. He glanced down at the soldier's sword and briefly considered disposing of the refuse permanently. They _had_ seen his face, after all, and if they were alive to report his interference to their commander, things might become difficult for the Freedom Fighters. _'Which means Jet will be forced to start fighting the Fire Nation again, instead of playing house,'_ he realized. For the first time in his life, Sneers turned his back on a still-breathing Fire Nation soldier. _'Well, this turned out to be a good day after all,'_ he thought cheerfully, focusing on the young woman who had handed him the perfect card to force Jet's hand. "Where are you headed?" he asked her. He noticed she was shivering and turning pale, despite the relatively warm sunlight that dappled down on them through the blood-red leaves above. She was probably going into shock – being assaulted never did any good for anyone's nerves. Generously, he draped his cloak over her trembling shoulders; he owed her a form of thanks, after all. "There's a village down in the valley about four miles from here, but it's crawling with Fire Nation soldiers. I think you've had enough of those for today."

She nodded wordless agreement, smiling gratefully as her hands numbly fisted into the coarse dyed hairs of the koala-sheep hide. "I don't really know _where_I'm going. Preferably as far away from any of _them_as I can!" she said in a low voice, forcing laughter as she looked around the clearing at the unmoving soldiers. "What about you?" she asked, "Where do you live?"

"Not in the village," he answered, scrutinizing her. He had what he wanted from her, and she was unharmed. Thus, she was no longer his problem. _'I should get back to the others and tell them that playtime's over…'_

"… can I come with you?" she blurted, biting her lip as soon as the words left her mouth.

"That's not possible," Sneers said immediately, knowing she would only slow him down, "I'm a wanted criminal. There are others like me. We've all got prices on our heads for resisting the Fire Nation occupation. It's not a life I recommend to anyone who is not completely desperate."

"I was trying to fight off five men with a kitchen utensil," she snapped, "How is that not desperate?"

'_Good point,' _Sneers allowed. "Fine," he sighed, tired of arguing. He should just leave her, but then… she seemed the type to stumble her way into trouble and get killed the second he turned his back. Sneers detested wasted efforts, and she _had_ more or less become his responsibility when he decided to come to her rescue. _'I hate having a conscience,'_ he grumbled, walking away. The girl hurried after him.

* * *

"Look, you can't say that Lian-cho was a better general than Pao! He never even considered using a spy network! In fact, he considered intelligence-gathering a waste of time! Small wonder he lost the Battle of Jikai!" 

The lookout, a gap-toothed little girl with large brown eyes and boney elbows and knees sharpened from her latest growth spurt, peered down wonderingly from her post high in the tree branches. Whoever was shouting was doing it at the top of their lungs.

"Lian-cho was betrayed by Prince Kotan, that's the only reason he had to withdraw! If the reinforcements from the Earth King's City Guard had arrived in a timely fashion, he would have completed the encirclement of the Pao's entire army and crushed him easily."

She recognized that voice – that was Sneers, the big boy who glared a lot and who helped Jet plan raids. He was not a very nice person; in fact, she was terrified of him just on principle. So, who would dare to _argue_with him?

"'_It is only the enlightened ruler and the wise general who will use the highest intelligence of the army for the purposes of spying, and thereby they achieve great results._' If Lian-cho had thought to take advantage of the Black Fire Lily Order's offer to investigate Kotan, he would have known the prince would betray him. Pao did, and he won the battle!"

"It's not as simple as that – Pao was on more familiar territory!"

"Even more reason that Lian-cho was a fool for not trying to use spies to better understand the terrain and his enemies, especially those he suspected might betray him!"

They finally came into view: Sneers, and some woman the lookout had never seen before. Her already wide eyes nearly started from her head. The strange woman was gesturing dramatically with the large frying pan in her right hand, her attention focused on Sneers, an angry scowl on her face. Sneers looked just as angry; he was shaking his fist as if to punctuate his argument.

_'What on earth are they talking about?'_ she wondered as the pair came to a halt under her tree and began shouting names and dates and who-knew-what else back and forth at each other like two armies exchanging escalating artillery barrages. _'I should probably do something – they're loud enough that Jet's going to hear them all the way out at the caves!'_ Screwing up her courage and taking a deep breath, she took hold of the sling-rope next to her and swung down from her perch.

"… and _anyone_ who's read Wei-tsing's _Analects of a Summer Storm_ would know that unless you have due awareness of the original terrain, even the best earth-bending cannot mold the battlefield and steal the initiative from the enemy!" the woman blared, cheeks flushed and her free hand balled into a fist thrust against her hip.

"Clearly you haven't read _Reflections on the Idyllic Mirror Streams_ by Huang, or you wouldn't assume that…!" Sneers was yelling when he was rudely interrupted by an intruder literally dropping in on their discussion.

"Excuse me, but can you guys keep it down?" the little snot-nosed brat drawled, scratching her cheek and flicking her attention back and forth between him and the young woman like she was watching a speed hand-ball tourney. "I'm trying to look out for Fire Nation soldiers and it's kinda…"

"If there were any Fire Nation soldiers in the vicinity, do you think they'd have just let us stroll through them?" Sneers demanded coldly.

"Um…" the girl replied eloquently, her goggle-eyes swelling even larger as she sidled away from him. The younger ones seemed possessed by an irrational fear of him. Well enough; it meant he had to devote less energy having to deal with their incessant whining.

"Don't worry, we didn't see any," his rescuee informed the girl gently. The little brat smiled shyly at her, which made the young woman positively beam. "I assume since we've run into you, we're close to where you live, Sneers?"

"Yes, this is a forward observation post; we're about two miles from the main base," Sneers replied grudgingly.

"Two miles?" The young woman raised impressed eyebrows. "That's a pretty wide perimeter to maintain, especially in a forest as dense as this one! How do you communicate between positions?"

"Easy! We whistle!" the little girl informed her excitedly, blasting into an impromptu performance as loud as a flock of gull-starlings.

"Yes, thank you for that, I didn't _really_ need to use that ear," Sneers growled, rubbing the offended organ. The young woman was wincing as well, though she was still smiling.

"That's helluva a lot of lung power you have there, er…"

"I'm Pigeon!" she supplied, "What's your name?"

"Oh, I'm…"

"None of your business – we have to get a move-on!" Sneers interrupted, grabbing his debate opponent by the wrist and dragging her away, "Return to your position, and don't come back down until your relief says you can," he tossed back to Pigeon.

"Bye, Pigeon, see you around!" the woman called, waving cheerfully over her shoulder. "Oof!" she yelped, tripping over a tree-root, saved from falling on her face only by the grace of Sneers's steadying hand.

"Byeeeee nice lady!" Pigeon returned, yanking on the sling-rope. _'Gee, wonder if she's his girlfriend, and that's why he's so grabby... Ew, wait, what am I thinking?!'_

* * *

"Wait, you want me to what?" 

Sneers groaned into the palm of his hand. "I _did_ say we live in the trees, didn't I?"

"Yeah, well, I thought that…" The young woman looked from the sling-rope up to the maze of branches far overhead, where masses of red leaves shielded the Freedom Fighter's base from prying eyes. "I thought you meant that you were… lower down?" She smiled sheepishly.

"You're afraid of heights," Sneers deduced.

"Scared to death of them, actually," she admitted, almost proudly, "Everyone once and a while, I can look over the edge of the cliff, just because I like feeling the rush of vertigo."

"… uh huh." Again, Sneers wondered about the wisdom of his decision to bring her along. Granted, she was an articulate speaker and obviously well-read; it was _so_ difficult finding an intellectual challenge worthy of his time in this cultural wasteland. However…

"Fine," he sighed, holding his hand out to her, "Grab on to me. I'll make sure you don't fall."

Her eyes widened. "Um, are you sure?" she asked, pulling on one of her pigtails, "That rope doesn't look like it can carry both of us… waurgh!"

"Just don't wriggle around too much and it won't be a problem," he said through clenched teeth, yanking on the rope to signal that he needed additional assistance to ascend.

"Ooooohhhh boy…" she whimpered as the rope lifted them up, squeezing her eyes shut and clamping her arms around his shoulders so tightly his shoulders creaked. About halfway up, she let loose a sudden explosion of colorful expletives (half of which Sneers had never thought of).

"What's wrong?" he asked, trying not to sound impressed.

"…I looked down."

"Urgh..."

---

"Sneers! What's so important you had to send someone all the way out to the caves to drag me all the way back here!?" Jet demanded as he yanked aside the curtain to his quarters and stormed in, "We have important work to… you're not Sneers."

"Um, hi?" the young woman who had been sitting on his bed greeted, nervously bouncing to her feet, "Sneers said he'd be right back, so I just… uh… you must be Jet, right?"

"Yes… who are you?" Jet wanted to know. The Duke had not mentioned a young woman being what Sneers wanted to talk to him about. But then, the Duke could be a little spotty on important details. He took in her less-than-groomed appearance, sturdy build (was she _taller_ than him?), and steadily reddening cheeks in one inquisitive sweep. _'Not from around here. Just what the __**hell**__ is Sneers thinking, bring her…?'_

"I rescued her from some Fire Nation soldiers who were prowling around the stream six miles east of here." Jet and the young woman started as Sneers made a somewhat dramatic flourishing entrance onto the scene. He smirked. "I was concerned about her safety, so rushed her here. I'm afraid they're still alive. A couple of 'em, anyway."

"They_saw_ you?!" Jet raged, "Now they're going to go back to their HQ and probably launch another raid to try and find this place!"

"Well, maybe if I'd had some support, instead of having to handle five of them on my own _and_ rescue a damsel in distress," Sneers pointed out.

"Hey!" the young woman yelped, glaring at him.

Sneers raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, fine, I was in distress! Sheesh, how embarrassing," she muttered, defeated.

"Also, she wants to join the Freedom Fighters," Sneers added.

"What?!" Jet exploded, "First, you go off and let everyone else work, then you pick a fight with a bunch of Fire Nation soldiers _and_ let them walk away from it, and _now_ you're expecting me to take on some strange woman you happened to pick up just on your say so?!"

"That about covers it," Sneers agreed.

"Um, I know I'm intruding," the young woman ventured, noticing how Jet was turning a deep shade of crimson in preparation for an apoplectic explosion, "but I think I can be useful. I can cook. I can also read and write very well, and I used to help teach at the school in my village, so I can take on some of the younger children here… as students. If they want to. If anything, I can look after them."

Jet took a deep breath and visibly calmed down. "Anything else?" he asked coolly, although in a much more polite tone than he had used with Sneers. Jet was always polite to women, Sneers noted sardonically.

"Um… I can do some basic treatment of wounds using herbal remedies; Sneers told me he and some others take care of that, but maybe I can share what I know. I… can sew?" She looked at Jet hopefully.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What are your feelings regarding the Fire Nation?"

She inhaled sharply, her hazel eyes shimmering with what were probably tears. "I… they killed my mother and father. They were soldiers, so that I can understand, but… they also attacked my village. We weren't even a garrison town! My little sister… we got separated when I… when we had to run away. I've been looking for her so for so long… I've gotten lost. I don't know where to go. Today, if Sneers hadn't saved me, those Fire Nation soldiers would have…" She huddled her arms around her body and shivered. "If I'd had any pity for them… I lost it when those men looked at me like I was nothing more than a _thing_ to satisfy themselves with. Those men… those _animals_… the Fire Nation set them loose on _our_ kingdom. We _have_to send them back to the sea, back to the foul muck they crawled out of!"

"I think I can see why you took her along with you, Sneers," Jet said quietly after a long, strained silence.

"Hm?"

"She's certainly got a way with words." Jet grinned darkly. "She might even be able to help others understand just what we're trying to accomplish out here."

The young woman frowned, confused.

"All right, you convinced me," Jet said to her, now the personification of cavalier chivalry, "But in the Freedom Fighters, we start new. That means you're going to need a new name."

"Eh? Like what?"

"You don't have to think that hard for one," Sneers said, strolling over to Jet's bed and lifting up the massive iron kitchen implement the newest Freedom Fighter had left there. "Right, Skillet?" He raised an eyebrow at her and smirked.

Skillet quirked her lips and laughed. "Now that you mention it, no. Thanks, Sneers!"

Jet glanced between the two of them. "Wonderful. Welcome to the Freedom Fighters, Skillet. Now, can the two of you find some _other_ room to be mushy in?"

"…!"

* * *

P.S. - After Skillet's induction, a new kitchen for the Freedom Fighters was constructed in a hollow so Skillet could cook without succumbing to vertigo and falling out of the trees. She still manages to run smack into low-lying branches, but she's a much happier person. 


End file.
